


Disinclined to Acquiesce

by redskiesandsailboats



Series: Never Shall We Die [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirates of the Caribbean Fusion, Kevin Day is in fact Captain Jack Sparrow, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pirates of the Caribbean References, and i have no explination, bc that’s what they are, certainly not me, i know how this sounds, ok listen, plenty of pining, probably, sending letters to each other over the ocean like yearning lovers in the 1700’s, they just don’t know it yet, who knows wtf is going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redskiesandsailboats/pseuds/redskiesandsailboats
Summary: “What can I give you that will make you help me find Neil?”Kevin frowns, stands up. “You know he’s on the Black Pearl, right?”Andrew did not know that. “I don’t care,” he says.“You know,” Kevin says at Nicky’s questioning noise. “The Black Pearl. Black sails, appears only at night. Haunted and crewed by the damned.”Andrew tries to convey exactly how many shits he gives about the bedtime stories of the Black Pearl through the look he gives Kevin: exactly zero.(Or, the Pirates of the Caribbean AU that absolutely no one asked for, in which Kevin is morally grey but terribly colorful in every other aspect, Neil gets kidnapped far too many times, and Andrew just wants to live out his life in peace, making swords and kissing Neil.)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Never Shall We Die [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095860
Comments: 102
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok listen. I have almost no memory of writing this. It has been sitting in my drafts, dutifully collecting dust, so naturally I decided to read it and then proceeded to have a crisis over it bc wtf. Who do I think I am? The Audacity I have sometimes. Also, why does Captain Kevin Day give me so much joy?? I don’t know. I just don’t even know. 
> 
> So here, have this, whatever it is, attempt to suspend your disbelief for a little while, and enjoy yourself. I certainly did. My beta has read it, but she also has like zero memory of it, so it’s in questionable condition. But I also don’t really care. I’ll probably post it two chapters at a time until it is over, or something along those lines. 
> 
> (Also, this is unfinished. Very very unfinished. The rest is hiding somewhere deep in the depths of my consciousness, but I felt like someone besides me and my two brain cells would enjoy it, so. You have been warned.)
> 
> ((Also, as a general rule, ao3 has been know to hate me, so if the notes do weird things like show up on four chapters in a row, feel free to ignore it. Ok I’m done now be free.))

**Prologue**

There is a boy in the water. 

Andrew can’t tell if he’s sleeping or dead, but he doesn't really want to know. 

He has had quite enough of death.

After all, it was the death of Cass’ favorite son that got him on this ship bound for the Caribbean. And it was his mother’s death, the death of a woman he has never met, that sent that bloody letter all the way across the sea to London, destroying the life he thought he could have, the life he was willing to fight for. 

It seems to be following him; death, that is. 

He doesn't say anything about the boy in the water because maybe if he doesn't it’s not real, but someone else notices anyway. A shout of  _ man overboard,  _ goes up, but Andrew can't get himself to move. 

It isn’t until Luther, his new found uncle, calls his name that he is jolted into action. 

“Watch him,” Luther says, beckoning him over to where they laid the boy across some crates. “If he wakes up, come get me.” 

He doesn't give Andrew a chance to answer, not that he would have.

Andrew stands next to the crates, imagining that he is a royal guard tasked with protecting the prince as he sleeps for a thousand years. 

If Andrew is pretending, then the boy really is sleeping, and Andrew has a purpose, and there is no smell of smoke in the air. If he is pretending, then the world is full of magic and dragons and fairies, not death and goodbyes and nightmares. So he pretends. 

The smell of smoke gets stronger, and the sailors are starting to shout, but Andrew ignores them all. 

He wants to reach out and press two fingers to the boy’s pulse in the dip of his throat. He wants to convince himself that it’s there. But he doesn't want to scare the boy, so he can’t touch, he won’t.

Then his eye catches on a gold medallion, half hidden by the soaked fabric of the boy’s shirt, and he leans closer to get a better look, still not touching. There’s a bird stamped into the surface, in the middle of flight, it’s mouth wide open in a silent cry. 

Without warning, a gunshot goes off. 

Andrew barely jumps, but the boy bolts up, his head nearly smashing into Andrew’s nose. His eyes are wide and terrified, and he has started to shake almost immediately; his chest heaving like there is a hole in his lungs, disposing him of his air as soon as he takes it in. 

“Hey,” Andrew says in a low voice, remembering how Cass would always comfort him after a nightmare. “You’re on a ship, you’re safe.” Andrew doesn't even know what safe is. The word is meaningless, empty.

The boy seems to think so too. His eyes dart from Andrew to his surroundings and he looks three seconds away from either bolting, although Andrew isn’t sure where he would go, or passing out again for lack of oxygen. 

Andrew gets a hand on the back of the boy’s neck and presses down until his head is between his knees. “Stop,” he says, like it’s that easy. Maybe it can be. 

Finally, there’s a hitch in the boy’s labored breaths, and he manages to suck in a great lungful of air, then two. 

“They’re coming for me,” he rasps, so quiet that Andrew almost misses it. He eases up on the pressure and lets the boy sit up, meeting his eyes. They are a startlingly vibrant blue. Andrew blinks at the sight. 

“Who’s coming for you?”

“They are. They’ll find me.”

Andrew shakes his head. He knows he can’t promise anything, but he wants to. Oh god he wants to. “No they won’t,” he says. The boy looks unbelieving. And sad. He looks so, so sad. Everything about him, from the set of his mouth to the steadiness of his gaze, is solemn. “They won’t,” Andrew repeats. 

“I don’t know you,” the boy whispers. Andrew hears what he doesn't say:  _ how can I trust you? How can I believe you? _

Andrew doesn't know how to answer that, so he says, “I’m Andrew.”

The boy looks like he’s fighting for consciousness. Andrew starts to ease him down onto his back, keeping one hand behind his head. Only when the boy squeezes his other hand does he realize that they are holding onto each other. 

“I’m Neil,” the boy says. 

Andrew nods, squeezing his hand back. “I won’t let anyone touch you,” he finds himself whispering. 

Neil still looks like he doesn't believe him, but he lets out a soft, “ok,” and lets his eyes slip closed. He doesn’t let go of Andrew’s hand. 

“I promise,” Andrew murmurs. He can’t tell if Neil hears him, but he doesn't care. “I promise.”

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil narrowly avoids disaster by becoming one, Kevin makes a fabulous entrance, and Andrew is a good citizen for once in his life.

**(Six years later)**

Neil can’t sleep. 

Weak fingers of sunlight are already starting to reach into his room for the gap in the curtains, and he didn’t even drift off once. Everytime he closes his eyes, he sees tongues of fire licking their way up the hull of a ship, and the acrid scent of smoke would force his eyes open, his mind convinced that his room had gone up in flames. 

Needless to say, he’s exhausted. 

Which is unfortunate because he has to be at least semi presentable today. Wymack is being named Commodore, and if Neil nods off in the middle of the ceremony, his uncle would be less than pleased. 

Too soon, the weak sunlight melts into an aggressive gold, morning trying to force its way into Neil’s room. He gives up trying to sleep and rises to throw the curtain open, squinting when the brightness stabs at his eyes. 

Then, like every morning, he checks his bag under his bed. The one he always keeps packed, just in case. Old habits die hard.

He takes the few outfits out on top and lays them across the bed, then finds his leather document holder and leafs through the pages inside, accounting for every single one before setting that aside too. Then, he searches for the false pocket at the bottom, feeling around once he finds it. 

Finally, his fingers brush against cold metal, and he pulls his most prized possession out. 

The medallion. The one his mother left with him, along with the parting words:  _ don’t look back, never stop running. Never be who you are, and never be one person for long. And never, ever, go in the ocean. Ever.  _

Over the past few years, Neil has broken all of those promises. 

Running his thumb over the gold face of the medallion, Neil can almost imagine her rage at where he is now. How long he’s been here. Some of the old panic kicks up but he forces it down. 

His mother was right about a lot of things, but with this at least, Neil knows she was wrong. He’s thoroughly sick of running. 

“Neil!” his uncle calls from somewhere below him, “It’s time to go!”

Neil curses softly, and without thinking, slips the medallion over his head. He gets dressed in record time and tucks the gold piece under his shirt. It’s cold where it touches his chest. 

He almost leaves, but remembering the bag at the last second, turns on his heel and shoves everything back in the bag and under his bed, kicking at the straps to make sure they’re not visible. 

When Neil finally descends the stairs, his uncle is balancing a sword on his finger, letting it rest perfectly parallel to the floor. Neil sees the sword before the other person in the room, but the second he does he pauses on the landing.

“Andrew,” he says, a smile finding its way onto his face and into his voice; both his uncle and Andrew look up at the sound. 

“Finally,” his uncle says, returning the sword to its sheath and setting it on the table beside him. “I was starting to think you were murdered in your sleep.”

Neil forces his feet to keep moving, and Andrew’s eyes follow him down the last stretch of stairs, his gaze heavy.

“We can’t all be that lucky, Stuart,” Neil says as he stops in front of them. He nods to the weapon on the table. “Nice sword.” 

Andrew frowns at him, which is to say, his mouth dips down at the corners ever so slightly, and a tiny crease appears between his eyebrows. If you weren’t looking for it, you would miss it, but Neil is always looking. 

He wants to smooth the tiny crease with his thumb, but he restrains himself. 

“Come on, Neil. We’re going to be late.” His uncle is already outside and halfway to the carriage, impatience dripping from his voice. Neil doesn’t reply, he just looks back at Andrew, who raises an eyebrow like a silent challenge. Neil grins, his drab start to the day already brightened, before tapping two fingers to his temple in a salute and following his uncle to the carriage. 

+++

Neil is decidedly still having a bad day. 

The ceremony to promote Wymack is tedious and endlessly boring, not to mention sweltering. 

Neil likes Wymack well enough, but he would rather not be boiled alive in his own skin. The fact that the outfit his uncle picked out for him has several layers, despite it being the start of summer on a tropical island for no other reason than its the fashion trend in london at the moment, does not help. 

That, on top of his acute lack of sleep, combined with general boredom, is enough to make him want to pass out, but he feels like that would be frowned upon in polite company. After all, the ladies present are wearing corsets, as is the fashion in London, and none of them have keeled over yet. Neil is not about to be the first. 

“Oh, Mr. Josten!” a voice trills, and Neil takes it back, he wishes he could pass out on command. He takes a quick glance around, but there is no one near enough to save him. Nicky, Andrew’s cousin, is a little way off, but he’s laughing with Erik Klose by the food table. 

Neil is starting to understand why Andrew refuses to come to these things.

He doesn’t turn, just in case she’s not actually talking to him, but then there is a light tap on his shoulder and he is forced to come to terms with reality. “I was hoping I would run into you!”

Neil steels himself and turns, pasting on a smile he can only hope is civil. “Miss Gardein,” he greets her, inclining his head. 

His first thought is she looks like a parakeet in her offensively colorful dress and alarmingly feathery hat. He doesn’t want to know how many birds had to die to make that hat. 

His second thought is she has a hungry look in her eyes, like Neil is the last pastry and she intends on stealing him all for herself. 

He does not enjoy being made to feel like food. It’s unsettling. 

“Please, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Marissa?” Her voice is high and annoying, like the sound you get when you pound on the key on the far right of a piano. Vaguely musical but mostly just piercing. 

_ As many times as it takes you to leave me alone,  _ Neil thinks. 

“At least once more, Miss Gardien,” he says. She laughs like he just made the most hilarious joke and takes his arm. He has to fight not to shy away from her touch. 

The last time Neil was impolite to her, Stuart threatened to ship him off to England, again, and Neil did not want to find out if he was bluffing. One can never tell with his uncle. 

Marissa starts pulling him along, and he lets her, nodding along to her mindless chatter and desperately thinking of ways to excuse himself. He has started a list in his head of all the terrible things that could befall him to get him out of her tight grip when she stops by the wall overlooking the cove. 

The sun is glaring angrily off the water, and Neil has to squint to see the ships docked at the port. Out of habit more than curiosity, he scans the flags, only turning back to Marissa when he’s sure there is no familiar red and black. 

He immediately regrets it when he realizes what she’s saying. 

“We’ve known each other for quite some time,” she says, like he is unaware, “and I know we’ve both grown fond of each other.” Of that he was unaware. Neil desperately hopes this is not going where he thinks it is. “But I guess I was hoping we could be more than just fond.” His hopes go flying over the edge of the cliff and dash apart on the rocks. Neil wants to follow them. Marissa smiles at him, and he actively wishes for the sweet release of death. “I know you’re shy, but I’m not,” Marissa announces, looking out at the horizon presumably to gather her endless courage. 

Neil doesn’t wait for her to finish. He makes a split second decision and flings himself over the wall, remembering at the last moment that there might definitely, for sure be rocks below him, and closing his eyes just before he hits the water. 

+

+++

+

Kevin’s boat is sinking.

The fact that it is a boat and not a ship irks him to no end, but there is not much he can do about it at the moment. 

He stopped attempting to rid the dingy thing of sea water some time ago, having caught sight of the docks and resigning the miserable craft’s fate to the bottom of the harbor. 

Besides, he has to admit, taking one step from the crows nest to the dock is quite an entrance. 

"Sir, you must pay to dock there," a man says, stepping in front of him. 

Kevin looks from the sunken boat back to the man, and then back to the boat. 

"How much?" he asks. 

"Nine shillings," the man says, looking mildly surprised. "And I shall need to know your name." 

Kevin hums in consideration. "How about," he suggests, "I give you twelve shillings, and we forget the name?" 

The man frowns at the coins Kevin had placed on his ledger, then snaps it closed and smiles, sweeping aside to let Kevin pass. "Welcome to Columbia." 

Well that was easy.

Kevin inclines his head in thanks, and starts off to the left, his inclined on doing some sightseeing.

Columbia is so much uglier than he was told. 

The buildings run together in messy clumps, spilling over the streets and creeping up to the harbor like if they move slow enough, no one will notice. If Kevin tips his head up, he can see the manors that hide in the hills, far from the messy chaos of the town. Far and clean and untouchable. 

Kevin thinks it's a fitting metaphor. 

The docks themselves are crowded and overflowing. Ships of every shape and size rest in the gentle waves of the cove. Then, Kevin sees it. 

The  _ Palmetto _ . 

It’s perfect. 

Well. As perfect as a vessel can be that's not the  _ Black Pearl.  _ It’ll do the job just fine. 

The question is, how does he get it?

How does one get anything in life? 

Just as Kevin was contemplating several different answers to that particular question (stealing, receiving, blind luck) he sees something fall from the cliffs just past the sails of the ships. Something that looked like a person. 

A shout goes up from the top of the cliff, where several people are looking over the stone wall at the frothy water. The person hasn’t resurfaced. No one else is near, and no one makes a move to get in. 

“Oh for heaven’s sakes,” Kevin mutters, already shrugging out of his jacket and unstrapping his pistol and sword from his hip. Must he do everything? 

Kevin gives himself a running start and dives into the cool water, setting out after the sinking form of a boy. 

The boy is pretty small, so at least he’s light. Kevin is able to drag him to the docks and hoist him over the side without too much trouble, but as soon as he bends over the kid to make sure he’s still breathing, the idiot sits up and shoves him off, coughing and sputtering and generally being insultingly ungrateful. Kevin almost slips back into the water from the force of his push. 

“I didn’t need you to save me,” the kid all but snarls. He shakes his head, like a dog trying to dislodge all the water from his dark hair. 

“You’re welcome,” Kevin says, put out, and the boy finally looks at him, his expression murderous. Kevin expects a sharp retort, but as soon as the boy gets a good look at his face, he freezes, all the blood draining from his face. 

Kevin isn’t sure why. He’s not  _ that _ ugly. 

“Neil!” someone shouts, and the kid- Neil- starts. Several people are sprinting across the dock towards them, but Kevin just cocks his head at Neil. He looks oddly familiar. 

“Do I know you?” he asks, but then the people are upon them, dragging Neil up and patting him down, as if to make sure he didn’t lose any limbs to the sea. He looks surprised when someone wraps a blanket around his shoulders and flinches back when someone else snaps their fingers in his face to get his attention. 

“I’m fine,” he says. That’s when Kevin notices the gold medallion winking in the sunlight on a string around his neck. 

Without thinking, Kevin strides forward to get a better look, but the other people close ranks around Neil, shielding him with their bodies and glaring daggers at Kevin like he’s the one who pushed Neil off a cliff and not the one who saved him, but it doesn't matter. 

Kevin looks back up at Neil, his mouth dry. “Where did you get that?”

Neil doesn’t answer; he has a wild, far away look in his eyes, like he’s seconds away from running. Kevin swears he can feel the direction of the wind changing as shivers crawl up his spine. 

“Who are you?” the tall man in a very official looking uniform asks, breaking off their staring contest. 

Kevin frowns at him. “If you have to ask,” he says, by default. “You don’t deserve to know.” 

Several people scowl; Kevin is still looking at the medallion, wondering how Neil got it and why he looks so familiar. It’s on the tip of his tongue. 

“Well,” another man says, stepping forward. He has Neil’s eyes, but lighter blue, piercing. He is also dressed like an aristocrat. Kevin resists the urge to wrinkle his nose at the hand that is offered to him. “Thank you for saving Neil, it was very noble.” 

Kevin hesitates before taking his hand, and he’s only mildly surprised when the man pulls him forward and rips his sleeve up, exposing the “P” branded into his arm and the little sun tattooed right above it. 

“Pirate,” the man spits, dropping his hand like it burned him. “Mr. Day, is it?”

“Captain,” Kevin says. The man ignores him. 

“Guards, arrest this man.” He looks smug when he says it. Yes, Kevin thinks, someone give this man a biscuit for figuring that one out. “Saving instead of stealing?” The man shakes his head solemnly as the guards snap iron manacles around his wrists. Kevin sighs at the sight. He was doing so well. “Honestly Mr. Day, you have got to be the worst pirate I have ever heard of.”

“Ah,” Kevin says with a smile that he hopes is roguish and not even slightly panicked, looking back up at the man in front of him. “But you have heard of me.”

It takes only a slight twist to dislodge the guards grip on his arms, and he uses the element of surprise to barrel right into the throng of people and grab Neil by the shoulders, shoving him back until they get past the group. Then Kevin turns him around and pulls the chain across his neck, tight. 

Everyone freezes. 

“Good,” Kevin says. “You’re learning. Now, let’s get some things straight, shall we?” He starts to inch backwards, dragging Neil with him. As long as he can distract them, he can make it to the main docks and make a run for it. “First of all, it’s  _ Captain  _ Day. Captain Kevin Day, thank you very much--” he's cut off by Neil’s elbow jabbing into his ribs. It’s enough to steal his breath for a moment, but Kevin doesn't let that stop him from shoving Neil away from him and back into the water. 

He doesn't wait for their reactions, only slightly mourning the loss of the chance for an epic monologue.

Kevin turns and runs. 

+++

The town is much more confusing than it looks. Which, in hindsight, is a good thing, because even though Kevin can’t figure out where he is, neither can the guards. It has it’s pros and cons. 

All he knows is that he needs to get the handcuffs off. 

Fortunately for him, one of the alleys he stumbles upon is home to a black smith, which surely has something he can use. 

Even more fortunately for him, no one seems to be there save for a donkey. 

Kevin pets it’s nose on the way by. 

_ I shall call you Devin,  _ he thinks at the donkey, who flicks an ear in response. Kevin takes that as agreement. 

If he weren’t currently bound in iron, he would say today is his lucky day. 

After some snooping, Kevin finds a metal pin that he uses as a lock pick. It takes him several minutes to wriggle the cuff open, but he just manages to get the second on off when the door swings open. 

Kevin doesn’t even have the good sense to hide. 

A man- because it has to be a man, no child could have shoulders that broad- stands in the doorway, his hand frozen on the handle. 

“You are even shorter than Neil,” Kevin says, because he has no filter and is still slightly panicking. He’s usually very good at making witty statements, especially when he’s panicking, but the height is really throwing him off. 

The man raises a single eyebrow. It’s more intimidating than it should be. 

“Neil?” he says, but it isn’t quite a question. Kevin wants to smack himself. 

“You know what?” he says, starting to back away, “You never saw me.” He smiles, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “I think it’s better for both of us if we just pretend this didn’t--” the man doesn't let him finish. He moves much faster than Kevin anticipated, much faster than he has any right to. One moment he is in the doorway, the next he is at Kevin’s throat and slamming him up against the back door. 

“What did you do to Neil?” he asks, but again, it wasn’t quite a question. His voice is low and dangerous, and despite his unfortunate height, his grip is strong. 

“Nothing,” Kevin says, shaking his head and trying to push the other man off of him. He stops trying when he feels the sharp prick of a knife against his ribs. “I don’t even know who he is.” 

“Who sent you?” the man asks suddenly. 

“Sent me? What?” The knife digs deeper and Kevin squirms. “No one sent me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I need a ship,” Kevin answers honestly. 

The man looks unimpressed. “Give me one good reason not to stab you.” 

Kevin is about to start listing all the numerous reasons why he should not be stabbed, but he doesn’t get the chance before more than half a dozen guards flood into the tiny shop. 

“Minyard,” someone says, and the man releases him. “Good work.”

Kevin sees his last opening and takes it, twisting around Minyard and making a break for the door. 

Unfortunately, Devin the donkey gets in his way, and before he can get around the animal, the hilt of a sword is brought down hard on his head, and everything goes black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kevin: but you have heard of me   
> Me: malfunctions 
> 
> Let me know what you think, I’m perpetually curious :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wind has, in fact, changed, a little flashback action happens, and Kevin has really really bad luck.

Andrew is polishing swords when he hears the cannons. 

Despite Columbia being a port city in the middle of the Carribean, a sea well known for pirates, cannons are not a normal, nor regular sound. It takes him a moment to register what it is. 

By the time the third or fourth one goes off, Andrew is up and cursing, grabbing the nearest sword and starting for the door. 

Footsteps pound above him, and he turns just enough to tell Nicky to stay before plunging into the chaos of the night. 

Outside is a nightmare. Pockets of fire dot the night sky where buildings have gone up in flames; people are screaming and gunshots whistle through the air. 

Andrew doesn't understand what's going on until he spots someone lobbing a grenade through a shop window and it all makes sense. 

Pirates. 

Of bloody course. 

Then it hits him and he almost staggers. 

Neil. 

Oh god, they’ve come for Neil. He has to get to Neil. 

Andrew sprints through the streets with new speed, adrenaline singing through his veins. He doesn’t stop to help or hurt anyone, as much as he wants to. He has a promise to keep. 

His feet take him the familiar route to Neil’s house almost without him having to think about it. It’s like clockwork, he has done it so many times. 

About halfway to the Hatford manor, Andrew hears Neil’s voice and freezes. Doing a one eighty, he spots four men forming a loose circle around Neil, herding him away from the manor and in the direction of the docks. One of them has a hand on Neil’s shoulder, and Andrew’s vision tunnels to the point of contact. 

“Neil,” Andrew says, not very loudly, but somehow, Neil hears him. 

He wasn’t fighting before, but at the sound of his name his head snaps up, and as soon as he spots Andrew he starts to struggle. 

Andrew is closing the distance between them like it’s nothing, everything in him focused on making them stop touching Neil. He has a dagger out from under his armbands and into his hands before he can think. The weight is familiar and comforting. 

“Andrew!” Neil shouts, his eyes wide. Three of the men are holding him bodily back, he strains against their grip. Andrew is going to kill them. He’s going to kill them all. “Andrew, behind you!” 

In the split second it takes Andrew to turn, something hits him in the back of the head, hard. 

The last thing he hears is Neil scream his name before everything crumples into darkness. 

+++

_ “What are you doing?” Neil starts at the question, cursing softly when the knife he was using to saw through the ropes that tether the small boat to the docks slips from his hands and into the water.  _

_ He had taken that knife from his uncle’s kitchen. It was the only one he had.  _

_ He turns to face the owner of the voice, an excuse ready on his lips, but it dies when he comes face to face with a boy his age.  _

_ “Andrew,” he says, because he recognizes him from that night on the ship. Neil hasn’t seen him since.  _

_ “Neil,” Andrew replies evenly. He’s standing just outside of Neil’s space, close enough to reach out and grab him but far enough that he can step out of Neil’s reach with ease. They are about the same height; Andrew might be a little taller, but he also looks stronger. At thirteen, Neil is thin and waifish. Upon seeing him, his uncle said he looked like he would blow away in a strong wind. Neil guesses his mother thought so too. She was always holding onto his wrist or the sleeve of his shirt.  _

_ Neil doesn't think he could win in a fight against Andrew. If he had the knife, maybe, but even then he’s not so sure.  _

_ “What are you doing?” Andrew asks again.  _

_ Neil panics only slightly. “Taking a walk,” he says, mentally smacking himself even as he says it. Andrew raises an eyebrow. _

_ “What, did the boat get in your way?” _

_ Neil looks back at the boat in question, then down at the half sawed rope holding it to the docks.  _

_ “No,” he says without looking up. He was so close. Just a few more strokes and it would have snapped.  _

_ “Well,” Andrew says, drawing Neil’s eyes back to him. “Since you’re already walking, it won’t be too hard to follow me.” He turns before Neil can say anything and starts off in the opposite direction without checking to see if Neil is actually following.  _

_ Neil hesitates for only a second before doing just that. It’s curiosity, he reasons, but it feels more like a string wrapped around his hand in a haphazard tangle, with Andrew at the other end.  _

_ He falls in step with the other boy easily, not asking where they are going. He doesn't really care as long as it’s not back to the large echoey Hatford manor.  _

_ It's a habit to list off the contents of his bag when he walks, no matter how meager.  _

_ Three apples, an extra outfit, the most nondescript he could find, a couple coins, a small pistol he found in his uncle's desk, and the gold medallion from his mother.  _

_ He makes it through the dismal list several times before Andrew stops outside a door half swallowed by ivy and underbrush. It takes Neil a second to realize they are at the old fort. The one the very first settlers built that was replaced by the barracks on the other side of the harbor after a few years.  _

_ This one looks like it hasn’t been used for decades, but Andrew takes the handle and pushes the door open easily, entering without waiting for Neil.  _

_ They find a set of stairs inside and climb in silence. The door at the top is already open, like it’s waiting for them, and the view once they get back out into the open is lovely.  _

_ The old fort was built right on the water, the constant crash and press of the waves carving out cliffs over the years. Neil goes right to the edge of the stone wall and leans over, mesmerized by the steady pound of the water far below.  _

_ Somehow, from their vantage point, under the light of the moon, the water looks more alive. The thought makes Neil shiver, so he turns back to look at Andrew. He’s surprised to find Andrew already watching him.  _

_ “What are you running from?” Andrew asks, without preamble. It feels like a punch in the gut. Neil turns quickly away, fixing his eyes not on the water and not on Andrew, but on the lights that dot the town at this hour of night. He takes a deep breath.  _

_ “Nothing,” he says, it comes out weaker than he wants it to. Andrew moves into the corner of his vision.  _

_ “Don’t lie to me. You are running from something. What is it.” He doesn’t say it like a question. Neil flinches.  _

_ “I can’t tell you.” _

_ “Why not?” _

“ _You would never believe me.”_

_ Andrew levels him with a hard look. “So?” Neil glances at him. “It doesn’t matter if I believe you or not. You’re running from it, so it’s real.”  _

_ Neil can’t argue with that. “I wish it wasn’t.”  _

_ “Wishes are for fools who think the stars can hear them,” Andrew says. “What are you running from?” _

_ Neil blinks at him. Andrew’s gaze is steady. “The ocean,” Neil whispers.  _

_ There’s a pause. The breeze sighs.  _

_ “So you steal a boat?” Andrew sounds so disbelieving that Neil almost laughs. Almost. _

_ “I was not going to steal the boat,” he says defensively.  _

_ “Yes, you were.” _

_ “I was going to borrow it.” _

_ Andrew all but scoffs. “Were you going to bring it back?” _

_ Neil hesitates. “Yes.” _

_ “No, you weren’t. Stealing.” _

_ Neil sputters, but before he can find an appropriately snarky response Andrew says: “It’s your turn.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “Ask me something, it’s your turn.” _

Oh _ , Neil thinks,  _ like a game _.  _

_ “Anything?” He asks. Andrew nods. Neil hums in consideration, letting a small smile play across his lips. “What’s your middle name?” _

_ Andrew scowls at him, like he's judging Neil's choice of question. Neil patiently waits for him to answer.  _

_ “Joseph,” he says finally.  _

_ Neil grins at him. “Abram,” he says back.  _

_ “That’s not how this works.” _

_ “Sure it is.” _

_ Andrew has a little crease between his eyebrows when he frowns. Neil thinks his eyes are the most expressive part of his face, the way he blinks, the twitch of a brow. Even if the rest of his face remains impassive, his eyes give him away. “Now it’s my turn. Give me a minute, I have to think of something good.” _

_ Andrew looks at him, for a moment, his eyes assessing. “Ask me tomorrow,” he says as he pushes off the stone wall and heads for the stairs. Again, he assumes Neil will follow. Neil does.  _

_ They make it to the docks, to the boat with the half cut tether, and Andrew doesn't slow, but he does glance back at Neil, a question in his eyes. Neil slows slightly, looking out over the harbor and then at the silhouette of Andrew ahead of him.  _

_ He hesitates.  _

_ Then, for some reason, he imagines a string connecting them, like the boat to the docks. It doesn't pull as Andrew gets farther, just tightens.  _

_ Neil could cut it if he wanted to.  _

_ But that’s the thing. He doesn't want to. The realization surprises him.  _

_ For a second he comes to a complete stop, his mother’s voice instant and urgant in his ear, telling him to  go, get out, but then Andrew passes under a streetlight and Neil finds himself running to catch up.  _

_ Andrew flicks him a look out of the corner of his eye when they fall into step, but otherwise doesn't say anything. _

_ They walk in silence and Neil breathes around the beat of bird wings in his chest. It feels so wrong, when they finally get back to the Hatford manor and look up at the dark windows. He has already been here once, so now it is forbidden. He should not have come back.  _

_ They stop just outside the gate and Neil takes a deep breath.  _

_ Andrew looks at him.  _

_ “Is he hurting you?”  _

_ His voice is unexpected in the quiet, and so is the question, making Neil jump and meet his eyes.  _

_ “Who, Stuart?” Andrew doesn't look away, but Neil almost laughs at the thought. “No, he wouldn’t.” _

_ “But someone has.” _

_ Neil sobers, swallowing and looking away. It’s answer enough.  _

_ He wants to tug at the hem of his shirt, at his sleeves, but he doesn’t. His mother’s voice rings in his head, telling him to  stop twitching.  Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest, a shield between him and Andrew’s observant gaze.  _

_ “I get two questions now,” Neil jokes feebly.  _

_ Andrew tips his head to the side, ever so slightly.  _

_ “Ask me tomorrow,” he says again.  _

_ After a moment, Neil nods. He turns back to the gate, easing it open, the lock already picked from his escape. He turns back and closes the gate between them.  _

_ For a moment they just look at each other. Andrew’s eyes are dark in the low light, and Neil realizes he doesn't know what color they are. He realizes a second later that he wants to know.  _

_ Letting go of the gate, Neil takes a step back. Andrew doesn't move.  _

Tomorrow _ ,  Neil thinks.  _ I’ll figure it out tomorrow. 

_He turns and walks back to the Hatford manor, feeling the weight of Andrew’s gaze all the way up the stairs and through the door._

+++

Andrew wakes up with a pounding headache.

The first thing he notices is the smell of smoke. The second is the press of cobblestone into his back.

Then it all comes back to him, and he sits up, only to regret it immediately when the world warps alarmingly in front of his eyes. He swallows a groan and forces himself to his feet. 

It’s still dark, which means he didn’t lose too much time, and something is still burning, but there are no people in sight. The silence is eerie. 

Andrew makes up his mind and goes to the barracks first. He needs to find out what the hell just happened. 

The barracks are swarmed with soldiers, Andrew doesn't understand why they aren’t out in the streets, helping people, but the thought gets wiped from his mind when he spots Nicky in one corner. Nicky is gesturing wildly at a soldier, Erik perhaps.

Erik sees him first, smacking Nicky and pointing. The second Nicky catches sight of him he lets out a cry and starts towards him like he wants to wrap Andrew in his arms and never let go. Andrew takes several deliberate steps back out of his reach until Nicky gets the hint and stops. 

“Where have you been?” he demands, wringing his hands and generally looking distressed. Erik has come up behind him and is looking at Andrew expectantly. Andrew ignores them both. 

“I thought I told you to stay inside,” he says. Nicky glares at him. 

“Andrew, it’s almost dawn,” Nicky says, reaching out again to touch him. Andrew bats his hand away. “We didn’t know what happened to you, and then no one had seen you for  _ hours. _ ” Nicky sounds half hysterical. “We thought they took you.” 

“Where’s Wymack?” Andrew asks, turning and scanning the courtyard. 

“You’re bleeding,” Erik remarks. 

Andrew brushes a hand across the back of his head and it comes away streaked with red. It’s mostly dried, so it’s not too serious. He raises an eyebrow. “Well spotted,” he says. “But I’m fine.” It sounds so much like Neil that Andrew almost winces. 

Nicky, evidently thinking the same thing, looks thoroughly unimpressed. 

At that moment, Andrew spots Wymack in the opposite corner, bent over a map with Stuart next to him. He’s moving before Nicky can say anything else. He hears Nicky and Erik following him but he can’t bring himself to care. Only one thing matters right now. 

“They took Neil,” he says, and both men look up at him. Stuart dismisses him almost immediately, turning back to the map, but Wymack straightens. 

“We know,” he says carefully, like Andrew is a time bomb that he doesn't want to set off. It’s probably warranted, but it annoys Andrew anyway.

“Andrew--” Nicky starts. 

“They took Neil, we have to get him back.” Andrew doesn't know how to get them to understand. He can’t break his promise, he won’t. 

“What does it look like we’re doing?” Stuart snaps, looking up from the map. Wymack sends him a warning look. 

“Andrew, we’re doing everything we can to track them. We’re trying to get him back--”

“That’s not good enough.” Andrew’s voice is quiet, but everyone looks at him. He wants to squirm under their gaze, but he doesn't. 

When Wymack looks at him, his eyes are so sad and tired. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Andrew knows he is. 

But sorry won’t get them anywhere. He doesn't wait for Wymack to finish, he’s already turning away, ideas frothing in his head like waves beating against the shore.

“Where are you going?” Nicky asks.

“You don’t have to come,” Andrew replies, so of course, he does. 

The trip to the dungeon, if it could even be called that, is short. Andrew remembers the way from a few overnight stays. 

They’re lucky, there is no guard at the bottom of the stairs for Andrew to knock out, just the disappearing form of a dog. 

Andrew doesn't have to look far. Kevin Day is in the second cell, flat on his back, with his eyes closed, sleeping. By the looks of the giant gaping hole in the adjacent cell, all the other inmates escaped. 

“Was that pure luck, or did someone want to spite you?” Andrew asks. Kevin peeks at him with one eye, lifting his head to get a better look. He frowns and goes back to the same position when he sees Andrew. 

“Ah,” he says. “Not-Neil.” 

“Kevin Day,” Andrew replies. 

“Captain,” Kevin mutters under his breath. 

“Wait,” Nicky points between the two of them. “You know each other?”

“No,” they both say at the same time. Andrew doesn't waste his time explaining. 

“Help me rescue Neil and I will get you out of this cell,” Andrew says. Kevin opens both of his eyes. 

“They took Neil?” he asks.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Andrew snarls, his patience thinning. “You’re the one who led them here.”

Kevin looks even more surprised. He sits up. “I did?”

“Did you not? You show up and hours later Columbia is attacked by pirates.”

“Coincidence,” Nicky says, because it most definitely isn’t.

Kevin looks baffled. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Fine, whatever,” Andrew says, throwing his hands up. “Just, what can I give you that will make you help me find Neil?”

Kevin frowns, stands up. “You know he’s on the Black Pearl, right?”

Andrew did not know that. “I don’t care,” he says. 

“You know,” Kevin says at Nicky’s questioning noise. “The Black Pearl. Black sails, appears only at night. Haunted and crewed by the damned.”

Andrew tries to convey exactly how many shits he gives about the bedtime stories of the Black Pearl through the look he gives Kevin: exactly zero. 

“Fine,” Kevin says, spreading his arms and smiling. “I will help you find Neil if you get me out of this cell. Good luck, the keys seem to have run off.”

Andrew doesn’t wait for him to finish, he grabs a nearby bench and wedges it under the bars of the door. He applies the full force of his weight to his end of the bench and almost smiles when the door pops off its hinges and swings open. Almost.

Kevin looks mildly impressed. 

Andrew is turning to go when Kevin says, “Oh, and one more thing.” Andrew looks at him. “You have to find me a hat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are the end notes working? What even do you people see??? Bc I see all the end notes for the entire fic congregating in the most recent chapter? Sooooo,, idk. I’m ignoring it. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you’re enjoying this so far, let me know what you think bc I’m always curious :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil meets the dreaded Captain of the Pearl, Kevin needs a crew, and another flashback bc this is a non linear narrative and there are going to be a lot of those. Enjoy.

Neil hates the ocean. He really does. 

He didn’t use to. 

But somehow the fact that pain and death always are associated with the ocean in his head really sours his opinion of it. Figures.

Not to mention the fact that it was always the one thing his mother truly feared.

This is just another traumatic event to add to the list of other horrible things that happened in the open ocean. It’s quite a list. Neil kind of wants to laugh. 

Then he closes his eyes and sees Andrew crumple under the butt of a gun, over and over again, and he feels more like throwing up. 

After they hit Andrew, Neil fought tooth and nail, all the way down to the docks and into the long boat. He fought as they hauled him onto the giant ship with the pitch black sails, and he fought as they left him in what looked like to be the captains quarters and locked the door. 

Only as the bolt slid home did he finally go still. 

The silence was crushing. 

It feels like it has been hours since then. Maybe it has. 

Neil has started pacing, and at this rate, he’s going to wear a trench into the wood. He doesn't want to think about the sway of the ship, the endless stretch of water growing deeper and deeper below them. He doesn't want to think for fear of summoning his demons. 

So he counts to one hundred in every language he knows. 

He looks up from the floor once and proceeds to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the windows, the low light rendering his eyes dark and bottomless. He looks away quickly. Wills himself to keep it together. 

Just when he thinks he might start screaming or pass out, the door slams open. He doesn’t flinch, but it’s a near thing. 

“Took you long enough,” Neil says, stopping his pacing and looking at the man in the doorway. The man raises his eyebrows. 

“Excuse me?” He’s very tall and decently imposing, and the hat he’s wearing makes him look slightly ridiculous, but he carries himself like he's holding the entire world on his shoulders and waiting for everyone to notice. 

“I said, it took you long enough.” Neil glares at him and his eyes narrow. “You kidnapped me, the least you could do is tell me who you are and where we’re going and why you dragged me out of my bed in the middle of the night, it’s terribly bad manners. Instead you locked me in this tiny room and set Columbia on fire.”

The man slams the door shut without taking his eyes off of Neil. For the first time, Neil spots the monkey perched on his shoulder. He swears the monkey smiles at him. It’s not a nice smile. 

“Do you know who I am?” the man asks. 

Neil considers. “No?”

“My name is Seth Gordon, Captain of the Black Pearl.”

Neil blinks at him. “Okay?” Seth looks severely put out. 

“Have you not heard of me?”

“No, no, I have,” Neil says, and he has. Every respectable child has heard tales of the  _ Black Pearl. _ Neil is very screwed, but he doesn't give Seth the satisfaction of knowing it. “I just thought you’d be bigger.” 

Seth turns an alarming shade of purple. It makes him look like a root vegetable. Neil is pretty sure he just signed his death warrant, but he doesn't really care. 

“Can you tell me why I’m here now?”

Seth is on him before he can blink, both hands wrapped around Neil’s throat and pushing him back until his back hits the window behind them. 

“No,” he says, angrily, savagely. Neil is way too close to the monkey than he wants to be. “I don’t think I will tell you.” He pulls away and Neil realizes too late that he has Neil’s medallion in his hand. The cord snaps when he gives it a sharp tug; Neil lunges for it, but Seth gives it to the monkey who scampers off and out an open window. 

“Give that back,” Neil snarls. It’s the only thing of his mother’s he has left. She told him to protect it with his life. 

Seth makes a disappointed  _ tut tut _ sound. “Now Mr. Josten, was it?” he says, and Neil’s blood boils. “You don’t get to make demands.” He grabs Neil’s sleeve and drags him to the door, opening it and making Neil look him in the eyes. “But if you want to look for it, you’re more than welcome to.” The smile he gives Neil before shoving him out the door and onto the deck is decidedly unkind. 

Neil stumbles and barely manages to right himself, but when he looks up he almost falls over again. 

The crew is made of bones. 

Literally. 

Under the harsh light of the moon, the deck is littered with skeletons. Except they’re  _ moving.  _

Everywhere he looks, undead sailors are at work, hoisting the sails and swarming the deck. Neil makes a choked sound and stumbles back, only to be pushed forward again. That time he does lose balance, going down on his hands and knees, but he’s up again, just as fast. 

He whips around just in time to see Seth step into the moonlight and transform, his flesh melting off his body like it was never there, his eyes sinking into his skull in a grotesque echo of Neil’s own reflection in the window. Though very much less living. 

“That’s interesting,” is all Neil can say. He flinches when a sailor claps him on the shoulder hard enough to almost send him back to his knees. 

“There’s no use in killing you yet,” Seth says, eyeing Neil up and down. “Lucky for you.” Seth turns away and waves his skeletal hand in a dismissive gesture. “Take him to the brig.”

“Fuck you,” Neil snarls.

“Do you believe in ghost stories Josten?” Seth asks diplomatically, without turning around. “Because I suggest you start.” Then, just before Neil is dragged away: “You’re in one.” 

+

+++

+

Kevin needs to find Jean. 

After breaking out of jail and commandeering a ship with the help of Andrew and his annoying cousin, Kevin takes them to Tortuga, a very well known pirate port. 

It is one of Kevin’s favorite places on earth, besides the Pearl. 

Lots of rum.

Andrew does not look amused. 

He takes Andrew, leaving Nicky to watch their stolen ship while Kevin attempts to track down Jean. 

After some asking around, and an incident with a drunk fellow that ends with Kevin in the possession of a new hat, they find Jean passed out in a pig sty. Kevin is only a little surprised. 

Kevin takes a water bucket and proceeds to dump it onto Jean, who wakes up sputtering and cursing. Andrew continues to look unimpressed, which in itself is impressive because Jean looks ridiculous. Kevin waits. 

When Jean spots who woke him, he says two words: “Oh god.”

“Nice to see you too, Jean.”

“No,” Jean moans, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He says something very unkind in French. 

“Jean, get up.”

Jean sends him a withering look. “You are not my captain.” 

Kevin winces internally. Externally, he offers a hand to help Jean up.

“You owe me,” Kevin reminds him. Jean grimaces, and ignoring Kevin’s hand, gets up on his own. 

“Fine,” he spits. “Fine. What?”

“I need a crew.” 

Jean scoffs. “What? Are you planning on some pillaging? A clean slate?”

Kevin smiles and Jean’s scowl deepens. “Something like that.” 

+++

Jean wastes no time finding Kevin a crew. 

They all line up on the docks, and Kevin feels like a drill sergeant, marching up and down the line. The sun is relentless, but thanks to his new hat, Kevin doesn't have to squint. 

He silently laughs at Andrew, who does not have a hat, and was forced by Nicky to at least tie a bandanna around his head to deeter the sun. It’s only kind of working. His pale skin is not made for the open ocean. 

After two laps up and down the dock, Kevin turns to Jean. “This is the best you could find?”

“I will walk away right now,” Jean threatens. Kevin ignores him, turning back to the line. 

He zeroes in on a tall man with dark skin and a bird perched on his shoulder. Kevin stands up as straight as he can but the man is still slightly taller than him. 

“What is your name, sailor?” 

“Matt Boyd,” the man says. He looks competent enough. Kevin nods, then points at his parrot. 

“You bird’s name is Bevin.”

Matt furrows his brow. “No it’s not--”

“It is now. Welcome aboard.” Kevin doesn’t wait for his response, walking down to the far end of the line. 

He stops in front of a sailor with his head bowed, a hat obscuring his feature. 

“You,” he says. “Who are you?”

The sailor looks up, and Kevin’s life flashes before his eyes. 

“Thea!” he says, his voice climbing three octaves. He clears his throat. “Thea, darling.”

Thea slaps him across the face. 

“That,” she says, as stars swim in his vision, “is for leaving without telling me, and that,” she punches him in the gut. He doubles over, wheezing. “Is for stealing my boat.” 

Kevin counts to five, then straightens, giving her his best smile. “I deserved that.” 

Andrew steps into his line of vision. “Are we done here?” he asks. 

“Where’s my boat Kevin?” Thea looks like she wants to throttle him. He takes a calculated step back. 

“Thea--”

“Kevin, I need that boat.” Kevin holds up his hands in submission but Andrew gets there first. 

“He will get you a better boat,” he says. 

“Yes, a better boat,” Kevin echoes. 

“A bigger one.”

“Yes, much bigger.” 

“That one.” Andrew points at the ship they commandeered. Kevin follows his finger and gasps. 

“That one?” he asks, outraged. 

“Yes, that one. Now let’s go, I don’t have time to listen to you squabble all day.” With that, Andrew turns and strides towards the ship, the  _ Palmetto _ , Nicky close behind him. 

Kevin sighs. 

“Fine, yes, whatever.” Kevin looks at Jean, who rolls his eyes extravagantly. 

“All hands on deck!” he yells, and just like that, Kevin is five steps closer to the Pearl. 

+

+++

+

_ Neil Josten is far too interesting for Andrew’s liking. It’s like an itch: Andrew knows he shouldn’t indulge in his intrigue, that will only make it worse, but he keeps pressing it, scratching at it.  _

_ Neil is a rash, an infection, and Andrew needs to get rid of him.  _

_ Everything about his presence in Andrew’s life is painful, from his lovely, terrible blue eyes, and horrible, unruly reddish curls, to his smart mouth and sharp words. Andrew can’t stand him.  _

_ Of course, he realizes this after he talked Neil out of running away that night.  _

_ Catching Neil in the act of stealing a boat had driven him to act on instinct.  _ He’s interesting, _ Andrew had reasoned with himself.  _ At least keep him around until he isn’t. __

_ Now, sitting on the ground next to Neil and listening to him ramble about this and that as he lay stretched across the stone wall of the abandoned fort looking over the harbor, Andrew knows he made a terrible, horrible, catastrophic mistake.  _

_ He is so, so screwed.  _

_ This is the fourth time Neil has joined him on his nightly trips to the fort. The first time Neil just showed up, looking not in the least apologetic and going straight to the wall to lean as far as he could over the side. The next two times, he’s caught Andrew as he was walking to the fort. They didn’t talk as they walked, but it was an easy silence.  _

_ This time though, Neil is already there, waiting for him.  _

_ Andrew ignores the feeling in his chest at the sight of Neil laying on the wall like one shift wouldn’t send him tumbling into the ocean below. He amuses himself with the thought of pushing Neil off himself.  _

_ “I’ll push you off,” Andrew says.  _

_ Neil doesn't look at him, his eyes fixed on the stars. “Do it,” he counters, “I’ll drag you with me.”  _

_ “I hate you,” Andrew says, and thinks maybe he means it. Neil hums in agreement. Or maybe acknowledgment.  _

_ Now, Neil has finished his endless chatter of nothing, and Andrew lets the silence stretch.  _

_ They keep playing the game of truths, but it seems neither of them have a pressing question that night. Andrew is kind of relieved, unsure if he wants to be honest at the moment, and then he’s annoyed with himself for being relieved.  _

_ He doesn't dwell on it.  _

_ But then he walks Neil home, like he does every time, and Neil gives him a small smile before disappearing behind the gate, Andrew wants to call him back for the sole purpose of seeing him smile like that again.  _

_ It’s horrible. The thought has him glued to the spot far after Neil disappears into the house.  _

_ Andrew hates him. He hates him so much.  _

_ The next night, Andrew doesn’t wait for Neil to get to the fort before him, he goes to Neil first.  _

_ He finds a way onto the Hatford grounds via a crumbled section of the wall and some sturdy vines. Getting up to Neil’s second storey window is slightly more challenging, but he just refuses to look down and eventually makes it.  _

_ Neil has the audacity to look surprised at the sight of Andrew on his balcony, knocking on his window.  _

_ “Andrew?” he asks, like it’s not obvious.  _

_ “Neil,” Andrew says evenly.  _

_ “What are you doing here?” Neil looks out past Andrew, as if his uncle is perched on the railing like some spying pigeon. “Did anyone see you?” _

_ Andrew barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Yes,” he deadpans. At Neil’s panicked look he adds, “you did.”  _

_ Neil glares at him. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”  _

_ “Well I couldn’t have you walking all the way to the fort, seeing as we are going in the opposite direction tonight.” _

_ “We are?” _

_ “We are indeed. Now hurry up or I’ll leave you behind.”  _

_ Andrew almost regrets all of his life decisions when Neil gives him a blinding smile. Almost. Good thing he doesn’t believe in regret.  _

_ “Let’s go,” he says, when Neil doesn't move.  _

_ “I’m ready,” Neil replies, so Andrew turns and begins the daunting task of getting down. Neil follows without hesitation.  _

_ They get back over the wall without being caught, and somehow, with another person, it feels so much more delightfully illicit. Judging from Neil’s breathless laugh, he thinks so too.  _

_ They walk in silence, like always. Neil doesn’t ask where they’re going and Andrew doesn’t tell him.  _

_ It takes them about fifteen minutes to get to the tiny cove. By the time they get there, the sun is well and truly set, the last rays of light retreating below the horizon. Andrew knows it looks like nothing. Neil is already more focused on the netting of stars above them, but when Andrew toes out of shoes and takes off his socks, Neil looks at him.  _

_ Andrew looks back at him, a silent challenge, and walks towards the water, praying that he was right.  _

_ He holds his breath as he takes the first step into almost completely still surf, but releases it as soon as he makes contact. It almost sounds like a laugh, even to him.  _

_ Everytime he moves his foot, light blooms in his wake. He kicks and the resulting splash arcs in a brillant, glowing color somewhere between green and blue. It looks like some deity took tiny colorful stars and trapped them in the sea.  _

_ Andrew turns and finds Neil staring at him with an unreadable expression.  _

_ Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Scared?” _

_ Neil shakes his head, but he’s looking at where the water laps at Andrew’s legs, soaking the ends of his trousers with glowing waves.  _

_ Andrew strides out of the water, stopping right in front of Neil, who drags his eyes up to Andrew’s face as he gets closer.  _

_ “Are you?” Andrew asks quietly.  _

_ Neil swallows. Andrews eyes flick to the movement. “Yes,” Neil whispers. _

_ “Do you want to get in?” Andrew asks. “Just at the edge.” _

_ Neil looks at him for a long moment. “Yes,” he says again.  _

_ Andrew nods, and then waits for him to get off his shoes and socks. Neil looks slightly surprised when Andrew offers him his hand, but takes it without comment. They step into the water together, Neil’s hand like a vice around his.  _

_ But then, Neil takes another step, his eyes fixed on the light that sparks under his movement, and he laughs.  _

_ Small and soft and secret, he laughs, and Andrew kind of wants to die.  _

_ He lets go of Andrew’s hand and bends down to drag both of his through the water, mesmerized.  _

_ Andrew wants to kiss him.  _

_ The thought is so sudden that he almost stumbles.  _

_ Neil spins around and looks at him, and Andrew swears some of the water found its way into his eyes.  _

_ “Don’t look at me like that,” Andrew mutters, but Neil is already turning away, back to the water that he claims to fear.  _

_ They stay until the first edges of dawn are peeking out over the distant horizon.  _

_ When they have had enough, Andrew walks Neil back home again, but this time he follows Neil over the lower section of the wall, watching as he scampers up the wall and to his window. When he turns back before disappearing inside, Andrew taps two fingers to his temple in a salute.  _

_ Andrew turns away before he can see Neil’s smile.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SETH GETS A REDEMPTION ARC, I REPEAT, SETH GETS A REDEMPTION ARC, IF YOU HAVE SEEN THE MOVIES, YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS, SO. HAVE NO FEAR. 
> 
> Also, the thing that happens when Neil and Andrew are playing in the surf is [this](https://www.environment.sa.gov.au/goodliving/posts/2018/04/sea-sparkle) It’s really freaking cool so go check that out. :) 
> 
> Alright, you know the drill. Thoughts? Feels? Questions? I’m so so curious. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew practices restraint, past Neil has bad news, and Kevin shows off his cool face tattoo, just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: vague descriptions of a panic attack

Andrew is going to murder someone. And it’s probably going to be Kevin. 

He is, to put it lightly, insufferable. 

They have been on the open ocean for about two days and Kevin has already caught himself on fire twice, almost tipped overboard once, and named every single whale and dolphin they have passed. 

“That’s Ervin,” he says after Nicky spots a humpback off the starboard side. 

“What if it’s a girl?” Nicky asks. 

“It’s not.”

“But what if it is?”

“Then it would be Kevlynn.” 

Andrew walks away before he pushes Kevin over the side himself. It takes a remarkable amount of self control. 

Most everyone avoids him, as usual, but he still feels so crowded, so trapped. His nights have been sleepless and filled with Neil’s voice echoing between the press of the sea against the hull. It’s haunting and horrible and overall exhausting. 

He never thought Neil would be added to the ranks of his phantoms, his string of ghosts. 

He banishes that thought as soon as it surfaces. 

Neil is not a ghost. 

The crew members are mostly filled in on what they are doing. Andrew doesn't join when everyone gathers for nightly drinks, but he can hear Nicky telling stories about Neil. How small he was when they first met him, how fast and bright and devious he revealed himself to be. 

Andrew adds his input once to mutter, “He’s a fucking idiot.” He doesn't think anyone hears him. 

“I love him already,” Matt proclaims, and Andrew chucks his cup into the ocean after downing the last bit of rum. He heads below decks before he can hear what Nicky says next. 

He doesn’t get any more sleep than the night before. Not that he’s really trying. 

Neil screams in his head until the sun reappears and the seagulls take over the melody. 

At one point, Kevin has him hold a compass, telling him it would point to what he wants most. In Kevin’s hands the needle spins wildly, dizzying and frantic, but in Andrew’s the needle freezes, pointing to the horizon. Kevin smiles and when he takes the compass back, the needle doesn't move. 

“We have our heading,” Kevin says, like one might say checkmate. Not for the first time, Andrew notices the chess piece tattooed on his left cheekbone, a queen. He thinks that perhaps he understands something about Kevin in that moment, however small. 

They reach the island by the night of the fourth day. Andrew can't really find it within himself to be surprised. 

"Andrew," Kevin says, "you are coming with me. The rest of you," he turns his glare on their dismal crew, "be ready to leave as fast as possible." 

"And if you don't return?" Jean asks.

Kevin pauses in front of him, his brow furrowing for a moment. "Keep to the code," he says finally. 

Andrew doesn't ask. 

They take a dinghy into the tunnels that snake through to the heart of the island, gold winking at them in the shallow water while skeletons grin like they know something Andrew doesn't. 

They disembark on a pebbly shore, torch light bleeding through gaps in the stone walls. Andrew can hear cheers go up, and it's all he can do not to go charging into the cavern and demand to know where Neil is. 

Kevin turns on him before he can act on his rash thoughts. 

"We must wait for the opportune moment," he says. Andrew resists the urge to take a step back. Kevin has no regard for personal space. "I'll go around while you stay here and wait for my signal. Now, I know this night be a little difficult for you, but do try not to do anything stupid." 

Andrew says nothing, waiting for Kevin to turn around before bringing the paddle from the boat down on his head. 

This probably counts as something stupid, but Andrew is not making it a habit of listening to Kevin, now or ever. 

Andrew steps over Kevin’s crumpled form and into the shadows at the edge of the cavern, where his eyes immediately go to Neil at the top of a raised platform. 

Neil is blindfolded and standing perfectly still. His jaw is clenched and Andrew can see the blossoming of a bruise across one cheek. Rage boils under Andrew’s skin and he struggles to hold it, stalking around the outskirts of the crowd until he’s almost behind Neil. 

“To freedom!” someone whom Andrew suspects to be Seth Gorden, current captain of the Pearl, shouts, bringing Neil's hand out and slicing it in one smooth motion. Neil doesn’t even flinch. Andrew watches as a medallion covered in Neil’s blood slips from his fingers and tumbles into the waiting chest below. 

The room holds its breath.

“Did it work?” someone asks.

“How can we tell?”

A gunshot goes off, and angry cries rise with it.

"He shot me!" Someone spits in outrage, and Seth turns, grabbing Neil and shaking him like he wants to strangle him. 

“It didn’t work,” he snarls. Andrew catches only the edge of Neil’s smirk. 

“A tear for your discomfort,” he says. “Or should I say, failure.” 

The sound Seth makes as he shoves Neil away from him is less than human, and Neil doesn’t resist as he slips and falls off the platform, landing in a pathetic crumpled heap, just at the water's edge. 

Andrew wastes no time in reaching him, his chest tightening for every second that Neil doesn’t get back up. 

“Neil,” he hisses when he’s close enough, and Neil flinches. Andrew pries off the blindfold, leaving Neil blinking in the torchlight. 

“‘Drew?” he mumbles, focusing on Andrew finally. 

“Can you stand?” Andrew asks. Neil nods. 

He’s still blinking when Andrew pulls him to his feet, and on the first step he sways alarmingly, so Andrew slips an arm around his waist and steadies him, like he always has, like he promised to do. 

“Pipe dream,” Neil whispers, his head leaning against Andrew’s.

“Shut up,” Andrew replies. 

Behind them, the pirates rage, oblivious. 

+++

“ _Andrew, wait.” Neil reaches out but stops himself just shy of grabbing Andrew’s sleeve. Andrew turns back from the edge of the balcony, flicking a blank look at Neil’s outstretched hand, and Neil draws it back to himself. Andrew’s eyes follow the movement._

_Suddenly, Neil doesn’t want to tell him._

_He wants to brush it off and watch Andrew climb down his balcony and disappear over the wall of his uncle’s property, knowing he will come back the next night and the night after and the night after, just like he has everyday for the past year, without fail._

_He wants to say something meaningless so Andrew will just frown at him in the subtle way of his and he can smile back like nothing is wrong, like nothing will change._

_But he can’t, he knows he can’t._

_“What?” Andrew says, growing bored of his hesitation._

_“Andrew I-” Neil stops again, the word hitting the back of his throat and stopping, piling up like a shipwreck. He can’t breathe. Andrew’s gaze sharpens._

_“What?”_

_Neil makes himself meet Andrew’s eyes and say it. The words rip him apart on the way out._

_“I’m leaving.”_

_Andrew goes very, very still._

_“What?” he says again, but it’s so much quieter than before. Neil holds the hand he had reached out to Andrew to his chest like it can stop the horrible feeling pouring out of his ribcage. It doesn't work._

_“I’m not running,” Neil says, needing Andrew to know that he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. They both promised. “Stuart says I need to go to school. He’s sending me to London, I tried-”_

_“When?” Andrew cuts him off._

_Neil swallows and tries desperately not to crumple in on himself. “Three days from now.”_

_Andrew doesn’t say anything. He’s not looking at Neil anymore; his eyes are fixed on some point just over Neil’s shoulder._

_“For how long?”_

_Neil hates this. He hates this so much._

_“Two years.” His voice comes out as a whisper. Still, Andrew doesn't look at him. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”_

_Finally, Andrew’s eyes slide to his. Neil almost flinches at how closed off they are. How empty. It’s been so long since Andrew has looked at Neil like that; too many purposefully sleepless nights are held between them._

_“Just like that,” Andrew says, and before Neil can relearn to breathe, he’s gone. Over the edge of the balcony and out of sight in the shadows below._

_Neil presses the back of his hand to his mouth to keep any sound from escaping and wonders when it got so painful to watch Andrew leave._

_+_

_Neil doesn't know why he's waiting._

_Andrew's not coming._

_Nevertheless he stands in the shadows of an alley and watches from a distance as the ship that will send him back to London is unloaded and reloaded. The crew members moving about the deck are reduced to silhouettes in the thick fog that descended over the harbor the previous night._

_For some reason the smell of salt is stronger that morning, climbing into his head and leaving room for nothing but the pounding of the waves against the shore._

_Neil can feel the phantom hand of his mother around his wrist, and he's convinced if he looks he'll have bruises in that exact spot._

_He doesn't look._

_"Master Hatford," someone says to his left, and he flinches._

_A man with a scowl carved into his brow stands at the mouth of the alley, his posture ruthless and his sleeves adorned with far too much lace to be practical or functional in any way._

_"It's Josten, actually," Neil says, forcing his voice into some semblance of normalcy._

_The man's mouth pinches like he ate something terribly sour. "Master Josten," he corrects. "Your uncle is asking for you."_

_"Oh," says Neil. The sea laughs in his head, giddy and vindictive. "Tell him I'm coming."_

_The man looks even more put out, if it were possible, but he nods and leaves Neil where he is._

_From the ship, something crashes, and voices raise in laughter, sounding far too bright for the misty morning. In the distance a bell tolls._

_Neil attempts to take a deep breath and fails miserably, choking on salt and potent memories. A tiny, hysterical laugh bubbles up in his throat but gets stuck behind his teeth and he can't breathe, can't feel, can't think._

_The ground no longer feels so solid, and he reaches out to steady himself against the alley wall but misjudges the distance, collapsing against it instead._

_Black spots crowd his vision like flies as he presses his forehead against the rough brick, willing his lungs to cooperate._

_"Neil," a voice demands, but he barely hears it. "Neil, breathe."_

_A hand clamps down on the back of his neck, warm and unyielding, and the pressure coaxes a gasp out of him. It's enough to force another, and another, until the spots recede almost completely._

_Enough so that when he opens his eyes and finds brick and mortar, he knows what's real and what isn't._

_It takes him a moment to push off the wall and turn; the hand on his neck stays in place._

_Andrew's eyes are as heavy as always, his head tilted ever so slightly. He's taller than Neil by an inch and a half, but Neil still feels dizzy looking up at him._

_"Drew," Neil whispers, everything inside him twisting into knots._

_"Idiot," Andrew replies, his thumb brushing, feather light, against the nape of Neil's neck. Neil shivers._

_"You're here."_

_Andrew tips his head the other way, his eyes tracing the lines of Neil's face. He doesn't reply._

_"You came. I thought--"_

_"Quiet," Andrew says, cutting him off. Neil obediently shuts his mouth._

_They are quiet for a moment, Andrew looking his fill and Neil banishing the words that threaten to escape._

_"Neil," says Andrew._

_"Yeah?"_

_"You're coming back." It's not a question._

_"Drew--"_

" _You're coming back," Andrew says again, firm. Neil looks down, his throat tightening._

_"What if he doesn't let me?" Neil whispers, knowing Andrew will think he's talking about Stuart, but he's not._

_"Then I will come and drag you back myself," Andrew says._

_Neil shakes his head, meeting Andrew's eyes and giving him a tiny, sad smile._

_"I'm not talking about Stuart."_

_Andrew's hand tightens on the back of his neck, and Neil focuses on the warmth, the pressure._

_"I'm talking about my father." Neil's voice is as thin as the breeze and twice as desolate. If he could summon a storm with his words, he would, but he's not strong enough, not wild enough. Neil Josten will always be a ghost of a person, no matter how much he wishes otherwise. "What if my father finds me?" The words taste like damnation._

_Andrew's eyes harden, gold as bullets._

_"Then I shall just have to search the seven seas until I find you and drag you back to where you belong."_

_A laugh escapes Neil, soft and surprised. Stuart's voice reaches them from across the docks, calling Neil's name. Neither of them look._

_"So," Andrew says. "You are coming back."_

_Neil let's his smile grow, shaky and sad and hopeful all at once._

_Without thinking, he leans in and presses a kiss to Andrew's cheek, right where a smattering of freckles is dusted like grains of sand._

_"Yes," he says, pulling back. Andrew doesn't move to stop him as he steps out of reach. "It seems I am."_

_With that he turns and heads towards his uncle. Towards the ship and the horizon and fear so crippling that only the ocean could hold it._

_He looks back only once, on the gangplank, and thinks he sees a flash of blond at the edge of the mist, in the shadows, but then, between one moment and the next, it's gone._

  
  


+++

Kevin wakes up with a splitting headache and a resolve to never be knocked unconscious again. The world tips and sways like he had one too many bottles of rum, but without any of the pleasant buzz. 

It's decidedly less enjoyable than being drunk. 

Especially when everyone keeps pointing pistols in his face. It's very rude. 

"Parsley," Kevin says, then frowns at himself. "Parsnip, parsley, par-" 

"Parley?" A voice offers and Kevin snaps his fingers. 

"That's it, parley." 

One of the pirates shoves a pistol right up against his forehead. “Damned to the depths to whatever miserable whelp that thought up of parley,” he snarls. 

Kevin uses two fingers to push the pistol away, looking solemnly at the man. “That would be the French.”

He almost didn't expect it to work, but the pirates take him to Seth, grumbling the whole way but leaving him in one piece. Kevin counts it as a win. 

Until he sees Seth, that is. 

Seth is livid. Kevin can see it in the tension in his shoulders, the clench of his hands. 

His voice is loud and abrasive; Seth never did know how to keep his temper in check. Kevin remembers the sound far too well, and his annoyance spikes. 

Seth took everything from him just to prove he could. Kevin doesn’t think he can stand within six feet of Seth and refrain from punching him. 

Unfortunately, he doesn't have a choice. 

Seth's eyes lock onto Kevin and his face immediately darkens. Kevin has to force himself to not to pull out his gun and shoot Seth right between the eyes, regardless of his ability to die. Or rather, his lack thereof. 

"Kevin," Seth growls. "I thought I'd never see you again." 

"Seth," Kevin says, injecting every ounce of false cheer into his voice that he can muster. "I hoped every day to see you again." 

Seth's eyes narrow, his hand rests on his pistol. 

"What did you do to your face, Kevin?" 

Instead of replying, Kevin tilts his head so the tattoo on his cheekbone is fully visible. Seth's eyes stick to it and harden.

“What happened to my crew, Seth?” Kevin asks. 

That question is, obviously, a mistake. Kevin sees the murder in Seth’s eyes and fights every instict in him to shrink where he stands and take it. Instead he ducks and spins out of Seth’s reach with practiced ease. Seth makes a frustrated sound and moves as if to try again before Kevin is pulling out his pistol and shoving it in his face. 

Both of them know it can’t do any good but Seth stops anyway. 

“Careful,” Kevin warns, taking the fury rolling off Seth in waves and using it as armor. “I invoked the right of parley, and you wouldn’t want to curse yourself further, now would you?” 

“What do you want?” Seth bites out. 

Kevin smiles. Finally, they’re getting somewhere. 

“I want my ship back.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kevin: that would be the French   
> Jean:   
> Jean: damn right it would be
> 
> You people know by this point, but I’m just gonna keep saying it, I want to know all your wonderful thoughts and feelings bc my curiosity becomes me <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sword fighting and letters!! Here begins the letter sending!! Yay!

Neil doesn't flinch as Andrew spreads salve on the angry red skin of his ruined wrists. Handcuffs are not kind.

Andrew is not gentle, but then again, he never has been, and Neil wouldn’t have it any other way. The touch is calming, grounding. It lets him focus on Andrew’s closeness rather than the sway of the lanterns above them, or the miles of open sea below. 

They sit in silence; Andrew hasn’t said a word to anyone since they reached the  _ Palmetto,  _ save for leveling a look at one of the sailors who asked,  _ where’s Kevin,  _ to which he replied, “He fell behind.” 

Andrew hasn’t let anyone else get near him either, which Neil is fine with. He doesn't think he can deal with Nicky’s worrying or even simple introductions to the rest of the crew at the moment. 

Neil feels as if every inch of him is bruised, which is not true, Seth’s men didn’t touch him, but for some reason even breathing hurts. Then Andrew sets aside the salve, letting go of Neil’s hands and not looking at him, and his chest aches for a different reason. 

“Hey,” he says softly, just to see if Andrew will look. 

He does. 

Neil leans in, slowly, just to see if Andrew will pull away. 

He doesn't. 

Their lips meet and Neil feels something inside him settle, some wild, tethered part of him go blessedly quiet, and he sighs into Andrew’s mouth. 

Kissing Andrew feels like coming home. 

Andrew pulls away just enough to look him in the eyes, that little crease forming between his eyebrows as he glares at Neil. 

“You are a mess,” he says, and Neil lets himself smile, lets himself reach up and press his thumb to the tiny line in Andrew’s forehead, smoothing it out. Then he threads his hands in Andrew’s hair and pulls him down to press his lips to the exact spot on his forehead that his thumb was a moment before. 

“Yeah,” Neil agrees, “I am.” 

Andrew opens his mouth to say something else, but the sound of a cannon firing cuts him off. 

Neil curses and Andrew frowns. From above deck, someone shouts, “It’s the Pearl!”

Neil curses again, and then Andrew brings out a medallion from his pocket; it winks in the lamplight between them. 

“Kevin," Andrew says at Neil's questioning look.

”Pickpocketing,” Neil replies. Andrew dosen’t disagree. 

Another cannon fires and Andrew is on his feet in seconds, taking the medallion and heading for the stairs. Neil doesn’t hesitate to follow him, bursting onto the deck and finding chaos.

The crew is swarming around like panicking cockroaches, hauling everything unnecessary overboard, hoisting the sails, yelling at each other. Someone nearly crashes into Neil before Andrew is able to snatch him sideways. The glaring sunshine and sudden movement is enough to make him terribly dizzy, and he finds himself leaning into Andrew, like he always does. Andrew doesn't spare him a glance, but he also doesn't move, content to be Neil's support, his pillar, his eye of the storm.

"Jean," Andrew says, snatching a passing sailor's sleeve until he skids to a stop. "It's no use." 

Jean glares at him, all dark hair and darker eyes, a roman numeral four tattooed on his left cheekbone. "If we get enough overboard, we can lose them in the shoals. The Pearl-"

"Will never give up," Andrew interrupts, holding up the medallion. "Not when we have this." 

Jean makes as if to grab it but Andrew flicks it out of sight before he can. 

"Why do you have that?" Jean hisses, looking like he wants to throttle Andrew. "You'll curse us all." 

"Actually, there's only one of us that's cursed," Andrew says. "And he's not on this ship right now, so unless you want to be hunted for the rest of your lives, I suggest we turn this ship around and fight back." 

Jean looks mildly surprised, like it's the most words Andrew has ever said to him. It probably is. 

"With what?" 

"Anything," says Neil, startling them both. "Anything we have left." 

Jean looks supremely sceptical, but then he glances back at the fast approaching  _ Pearl,  _ and resolve hardens his face. 

"Fine," Jean growls. "Fine. Port to starboard!” 

The cry is taken up, as is the command to load the cannons. Neil extracts himself from Andrew to go make himself useful, only to be pulled back again. 

“I’m fine,” he says automatically. Andrew does not look impressed. “Really, Andrew.” Neil gently pries Andrew’s hand off of his sleeve, holding onto it a second longer than strictly necessary. “I’m fine. Let me help.”

Andrew’s fingers flex while his face remains impassive, and Neil drops his hand with a smile, tapping his forehead in a mocking salute before turning and searching for Nicky. 

Just as he spots Nicky on the other side of the deck, another cannon goes off, and this one hits it’s mark. Screams go up as wood splinters and shrapnel flies. Neil stumbles as the ship suddenly tips to the left, obeying the command of Jean at the wheel, urging the vessel to swing around and face the  _ Black Pearl  _ head on. 

Against the wind, they never stood a chance, the  _ Pearl  _ is well known for her speed, but with the wind, the  _ Palmetto  _ screams towards her opponent like a vengeful wind. Within seconds the two ships are adjacent; someone screams, “Fire!” and several things happen at once. 

Cannons explode, accompanied by the higher cadence of rifles, and for an alarming moment, Neil’s vision doubles and suddenly he is on a different ship, in different waters, surrounded by smoke and wreckage and corpses. 

Then Nicky shouts somewhere to his right, and he is yanked savagely back into the present in time to see pirates pour onto the  _ Palmetto,  _ swinging from the rigging. 

Someone shoves a sword into his hands, and he doesn't have time to think before they are upon him. Every imagined cut and bruise on his body protests as he lifts the weapon to defend himself, the blades screech as metal meets metal. 

From there, instinct takes over. 

Before the academy in London, Neil didn’t even know how to hold a sword. He had never needed one on the run with his mother. Mary Hatford taught him how to use a knife and a gun, but not swords, never swords. 

As Neil parries another near miss, he silently thanks all the fencing classes he took in London, as well as all the training Andrew gave him afterwards. 

Of course, this is not a classroom, and there will be no yielding.

Just as Neil pulls his sword out of another man’s chest, he sees Nicky out of the corner of his eye, fighting two men at once as a third comes up behind him. 

Neil is there in seconds, cutting down one, and then the other, and with Nicky’s help, the third. Drawing his sword out of the pirate, Nicky looks vaguely sick, but he manages to look up and give Neil a nod, which Neil returns. 

“Enough!” someone shouts. Neil turns towards the sound and finds Seth with his arms raised, his eyes trained ahead. 

Surprisingly, the pirates stop, obeying his command instantly.

Neil follows Seth’s gaze, almost dropping his sword when he sees Andrew holding Kevin on his knees with a knife to his throat and a gun to his head. Neil can already see a thin dribble of blood running down Kevin’s neck. 

Seth moves as if to reach for Kevin and Andrew tightens his grip.

“Take one more step,” Andrew says, his voice a low growl, “and I’ll kill him.”

Seth stops. “What makes you think I care?”

Andrew doesn't immediately answer, his eyes blank and bored. 

“The ritual didn’t work,” he says finally, and Seth frowns. “You got Neil’s blood but you didn’t know you were missing just one more.” Andrew opens his hand holding the pistol to Kevin’s head just slightly, so that the medallion tumbles out into full view, dangling on it’s chain right next to Kevin’s ear. “You need his.” 

Both crews shift and murmur in surprise. Seth looks like he’s about to say something but Andrew cuts him off. 

“I propose a deal.” 

Seth looks less than happy, but after a moment, he nods. “I’m listening.” 

“Neil goes free,” Andrew says immediately, and Neil’s heart clenches. “You have his blood, let him go.” 

“Fine,” Seth says, after a moment of consideration. “Is that all?”

“No,” Andrew says, taking the medallion after tucking his gun away and pressing it into the blood running down Kevin’s neck. Kevin winces at the pressure. “Kevin goes free too.” Andrew holds out the gold piece, now soaked in red. “Take his blood and the medallion, but don’t take him.” 

Neil’s chest loosens and he lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. 

Andrew doesn't remove his knife as Seth steps forward and snatches the medallion, smiling like he’s imagining several creative ways in which to kill both Andrew and Kevin. 

He hands the medallion to the monkey on his shoulder and straightens. 

“Done,” he says. 

+++

_August 19, 1734_

_Dear Andrew,_

_London is so colorless._

_I mean, I’ve technically been here before, but I don’t remember it being this dull. Everything from the buildings to the sky, even the water, is grey._

_I used to think I rather liked the color grey, but now I find myself wishing for blues and greens and gold, like the harbor and the palm trees, ~~and your eyes.~~_

~~_Am I allowed to say that?_ ~~

_I’m staying with an aunt, whom I had never met before now, for two weeks before school starts and I move into the dorms. She has a daughter a little bit older than me, who hasn’t said a word to me since I arrived, which I am perfectly fine with._

_It’s just strange, I suppose._

_I have a cousin._

_My mother never told me anything real. We always talked about the weather, or our next stop, or she would tell me stories that she made up. The only reason I knew about Uncle Stuart is because he helped us once._

_She told me never to go back to him, but now look at where I am. Look where he has sent me._

_I’ve broken almost all of her rules, Andrew. She would be so angry with me._

_I’m afraid that’s all the time I have for writing; I am being summoned for dinner, and I could hardly get away._

_I hope you are doing well, and I hope this letter reaches you safely._

_Tell the sky hello for me._

__

_Neil A. Josten_

_September 15, 1734_

_Dear Andrew,_

_London is still unbearably grey, the good news is, I have escaped such oppression._

_The academy is in the countryside, just beyond the city. I didn't know how much I missed the stars until I could see them again._

_You would hate it here, of that I am certain._

_This school is filled with spineless spoiled pricks who were born with silver spoons shoved down their throats. They are so ignorant and arrogant at the same time, it's exhausting. They ask too many questions, and expect answers simply because they believe they are entitled to everything in life._

_I've taken to eating my meals in the stairwells of one of the towers. No one thinks to look for me there._

_Perhaps the only upside is the library. God, Andrew, the library. It's huge. Possibly bigger than my uncle's entire house._

_It feels almost holy, all those words and stories and whispers._

_I take it back. You would not hate all of it here. You would love the library._

_Anyways, my candle is almost burned out (I am not supposed to have it, per school rules, but I nabbed three from the kitchens along with some apples. I have to ration them if I am to continue staying up late and writing to you.)_

_I really hope I don’t wake my roommate. I don’t really care what he thinks of me but I also don’t want him telling a teacher about my contraband candles. That would be counterproductive._

_I guess that’s all for now. If I think of something later I shall add it._

_Tell the harbor I miss it, will you?_

_Neil A. Josten_

__

_P.S. I did think of something else, the scones. Andrew, you would love the scones. They are so obcenly sweet, it's disgusting._

_  
  
_

_November 3, 1734_

_Dear Andrew,_

_A thought just occurred to me._

_You might not be getting my letters._

_I fear they are being lost at sea, all the ink bleeding off of them and all my precious candle wax, wasted. The waves get my letters and we are both left wondering whether or not the other will reach out._

_If that is the case, let it be known that I am trying._

_If not, if you are getting my letters and choose to not respond, know that you do not have to._

_I do not care if you burn each of my letters after reading them, I don't even care if you burn them without having ever read them at all. All that matters to me is that you get them. All that matters is you see my name on the front of the envelope and know I am thinking of you._

_You know, one of the girls in my year, her name is Peneope I think, caught me writing to you. She asked me who I was writing to and when I refused to tell her, she asked me if I was writing to my sweetheart back home._

_I, naturally, told her to fuck off, and now half the school is conviced I am in love with some mysterious girl from the carribean. People keep asking me about it, and I don’t understand why it’s so important to them. I don’t have a girl waiting for me._

_I don’t know, I just thought you’d like to know that._

_A lot has happened since I last wrote to you._

_I started fencing lessons. My mother never saw fit to teach me to use a sword, she always much prefered a gun, but it intrigues me. There's a beauty to it that guns will never have, an art. It’s like a dance._

_I think, perhaps, life is a lot like using a gun. It’s sudden and cruel and terribly painful, but I think I would much rather live life like it’s a sword fight. Maybe if I pretend survival can be beautiful it will be. Maybe if I pretend to go through life like it is a dance the world won’t notice that I never learned how._

_Is that what you do? Pretend?_

_Somehow I don’t think so. I think you don’t let the world tell you when to dance, or how; you stand to the side, unaffected, watching. I admire you for that. I wish I could do the same, but I have watched the world pass by for all of my life and I’m sick of it._

_Does any of this make sense?_

_I hope it does._

_Ah, another thing that happened._

_There’s this boy, a few years older than me, his name is Richard, and you would absolutely hate him. Most of the people at this school are horrible, but he is the worst of the worst. If you could hear some of the things he says, you would stick a knife in him without a second thought._

_Anyway, a few weeks ago, he was talking to a girl whom I never bothered to learn the name of, and she kept telling him to go away._

_At first I wasn’t really listening, but then he started touching her arm and leaning to close, and she told him to stop, but he didn’t._

_So I punched him._

_In the face._

_I nearly broke my thumb._

_I got in so much trouble, but I didn’t care. I still don’t know that girl’s name, and I don’t really care about that either. He shouldn’t have been touching her at all._

_On the bright side, I found a new stash of candles in the Headmaster’s office when I was serving detention._

_On the downside, I am being forced to help clean up after the winter ball that is supposedly being held right before we are let out for winter break. Apparently it’s a school wide event to celebrate the end of exams, which I most definitely do not want to be a part of. It sounds horrid._

_I think I’m planning on slipping away and hiding in the north tower, where we have our astronomy classes._

_There is supposed to be a meteor shower on that night._

_I want to see it. I’ve never even seen a shooting star._

_Did you know that the stars look different depending on where you are in the world? You probably did, but still. Your stars are completely different than mine._

_I think the stars are perhaps the most beautiful part of our world. They contain maps and stories and secrets, and sometimes, when I look up and up and up, it feels as if I am falling._

_And then I think of you. You and your heights._

_Though now that I think of it, it’s less a fear of heights and more of a fear of depths, is it not?_

_A fear of falling._

_Is feeling worth the fear, Andrew?_

_I dearly hope it is._

_Anyway, I realize that this letter is getting terribly long, and I have been rambling, and for that I apologize. Nevertheless, I hope it reaches you._

_Tell your stars I said hello, and I’ll tell mine of you._

_Neil A. Josten_

__  
  


_December 1, 1734_

_Abram,_

_Your letters are not being lost at sea. So you can cease your wondering._

_As for the state of London, I have found that most of the world is colorless unless you work for it to be otherwise. It’s the people in the world that give it color. Unfortunately, most are set on leeching it of the very same._

_Fencing is probably the only useful thing you are learning there. At least now you have another way to defend yourself, since you insist on antagonizing everything that dares breathe._

_You don’t have to waste your candles on me. Use them for school work, or for reading late into the night. Use them to set the school on fire and burn it to the ground for all I care, however you do not have to use them on me._

_Lastly, Abram, hope._

_Hope, you write of._

_You_ hope _I'm doing well. You_ hope _that I get your letters. You_ hope _that feeling is worth the fear._

_But Abram, hope is a dangerous disquieting thing. And it hurts the most when it is taken away._

_ Andrew J. Minyard _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep to the code my friends, keep to the code. 
> 
> Curiosity killed the RJ, but satisfaction brought her back, that’s what I always say lol.
> 
> Pls ignore me. 
> 
> Ok wait don’t. 
> 
> Fasdfjvnkdh moving on, I hope you’re enjoying this so far, depending on how long the next three chapters are, I will either post one and then the last two, or all three at once, we shall see. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But why is the rum gone? 
> 
> (Need I say more?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sort of short, however, you’re getting the last three today. So. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.

Kevin watches as Neil is shoved with little ceremony onto a plank jutting out over the obcenly blue water, his eyes flicking to the tiny, pathetic excuse of an island in the distance. 

Never in a million years had he thought he would see that horrible island again; never in a million years did he want to see that island again, yet here he is. He shudders. 

Neil flicks a venomous look over his shoulder, and Kevin follows his gaze to Seth.

"Last time," Kevin points out, eyeing the monkey on Seth’s shoulder with distaste, "you gave me a pistol with one shot." 

Seth blinks at him. "Indeed I did." He motions to two sailors to bring forward Kevin's effects, and they hand him his pistol. He feels steadier with it in his hand.

"Seeing as there are two of us, you could be a gentleman and give us two shots," Kevin suggests. "It's only fair." 

Seth doesn't even pretend to consider it, smiling his toothy smile and shaking his head. 

"No, I don't think I will," he says. "I'll be giving you one shot, like last time, and then  _ you  _ can be the gentleman, and shoot the boy." 

There is a crash and a bout of cursing as several pirates struggle to restrain a thrashing Andrew. Kevin is almost surprised that he hasn’t escaped them by now. 

"We had a deal," he snarls, his eyes wild, the most emotion Kevin had ever seen him express.

"You said to release both Kevin and Neil," Seth counters, wheeling on him. "but you never specified where, and you never said to do anything else, so I must do nothing else. This is me upholding my end of the deal." 

“But the code-” Nicky starts. 

“Don’t pretend to know anything about the code,” Seth interrupts, low and dangerous. “They’re more like guidelines, anyway.” 

Seth holds out a hand and the monkey places the medallion covered in Kevin’s blood in his palm. Kevin didn’t even see him take it from Andrew. 

“Thank you, Kevin,” Seth says, and Kevin looks at him in confusion. 

“You’re welcome?”

“Not you, we named the monkey Kevin.”

Kevin frowns. “Well that's just unoriginal.” 

There is another crash, and Kevin looks just in time to see two pirates holding Andrew to the ground with a knee on his back and his arms twisted behind him. Neil makes a strangled sound and starts forward, only to be bodily held back. 

“Get off of him,” Neil says, eyes only for Andrew. “I said get the fuck off and stop touching him. Andrew-- Andrew, look at me. Look at me.”

Kevin looks between them as they stare at each other, both restrained, eyes full of fire. If one were to thread a string between them it would be made of something quite like spider silk, not unbreakable, but bending and binding and impossibly strong, something to be built upon. They were the kind of people to make everyone else feel invisible when they were together; to them, simply nothing else mattered. 

“Get off,” Neil says again, and this time, miraculously, they listen, letting Andrew up but still holding him fast. Neither looks away from the other. 

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, one of the pirates holding Neil gets fed up with the staring contests. 

“Too long,” he declares, and shoves Neil off the side. 

Nicky yelps as they hear Neil hit the water. Andrew looks half a second away from committing homicide. Kevin is barely paying attention as he is pushed onto the plank next, too busy following Neil’s form as he swims towards the island. Then he sees his affects tossed to the waves in front of him, and he follows without thinking, diving in after them into the warm, clear carribean water. 

It’s astounding how much he hates the action of swimming towards that godforsaken island. He contemplates succumbing to the waves, but then he thinks of Neil in front of him and Andrew and the  _ Pearl _ behind him, and he keeps going. 

When he finally reaches the beach, Neil is livid and dripping, eyes trained on the retreating form of the  _ Pearl.  _

In that moment, Kevin is hit with deja vu so hard that he actually stumbles. His mind goes to a different boy, on a different beach, watching a different ship sail away, but with the same exact look in his eyes. 

But it couldn’t possibly be--

“Nathaniel?” Kevin asks, dread thinning the word to a horrified whisper. Neil, Nathaniel, whoever it is, flinches, turning to Kevin and backing away. 

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I was.” 

Neil wraps his arms around himself, a shield against the world, and all Kevin can see is the little dark haired boy he thought he knew so long ago. “I was, Kevin. Now we need to find a way off this island so I can go and get Andrew out of this mess that  _ you  _ got us in.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“They followed you!” Neil says, and he’s yelling now. “They followed you to Columbia, and destroyed everything. I was doing fine. I was finally,  _ finally _ able to wake up in the morning without relearning out to breathe, and now I’ve been dragged here to the middle of the  _ ocean,  _ Kevin. You of all people should know that  _ I can’t be here _ . And they’ve gone and dragged everyone I--” Neil cuts himself off abruptly, taking a deep breath. “So how did you do it?" He asks, "Last time.” 

“Do what?” Kevin asks, thrown off by the sudden change in conversation.

“You were stuck here right? How did you escape last time?”

“Oh.” 

Kevin blinks and sees Nathaniel laughing in Riko Moriyama’s face, earning a slap for his audacity. He blinks again and it’s Neil again, right in front of him, grown and angry and more of a person than Kevin ever remembers him being. 

Kevin turns on a heel and walks towards the trees. 

It’s too much. The brand on his forearm burns, and he rubs it absentmindedly. 

“Well?” Neil’s voice comes from right behind him, and he startles, glancing back at Neil and then forward again. He feels as if someone is breathing down his neck, ready to take his hand and break it completely, or wrap a noose around his throat. Or put a bullet in his brain. 

“This island used to be a storage port for a couple merchant vessels,” Kevin says finally, coming up to a tree and knocking on the trunk. When he finds it’s hollow, he turns to the left and takes three big steps. On the third, his boot hits the sand and makes a very satisfying thud. Kevin sifts around until he finds the latch and pulls, lifting the trapdoor up and over, revealing a short set of stairs and a bunch of crates. Eureka. 

Kevin descends the stairs and opens one of the crates, pulling out two bottles of rum. He decides then and there to consume as much rum as he possibly can within the next few hours. 

Neil makes a disgusted sound behind him, and he turns to climb out of the hole. 

“Last time,” Kevin says, coming to stand in front of Neil, “I was here for a grand total of three days.”

Neil is silent for a moment. 

“That’s it then?” He asks, and he looks so disappointed, but somehow still angry. “That’s the truth of the great pirate Kevin Day. You sat on a beach.” Neil gets in Kevin’s face, disdain dripping from his voice. “For three days. Drinking rum.”

Kevin goes for a charming smile, holding up the rum, and knows he comes up short based on the way Neil scowls. “Welcome to the Carribean.” 

+++

Kevin wakes to the smell of something burning. 

He sniffs and opens his eyes to find dark smoke wafting over his head. That in of itself is quite alarming. The fact that he is laying on sand and not the comforting rock of a ship only adds to his distress, and he sits us quickly. The pound of his head informs him that he is severely hungover, but he doesn't stop. 

To Kevin’s utter dismay, half of the island seems to be on fire, and there at the edge of it is Neil, using Kevin’s jacket to fan the flames. 

“What are you doing?” Kevin yelps, coming up behind Neil. He looks into the flames and finds a bunch of crates, blackened by the ash and heat. His dismay increases. “You’re burning the rum!” 

Neil doesn't even look at him, surveying his work. 

“Yes,” he says. “The rum is gone.” 

Kevin can only stare in horror. 

“But why is the rum gone?”

“That signal,” Neil says, turning on Kevin and pointing behind him to the impressive tower of smoke clawing its way into the mockingly blue sky, “is over a thousand feet high. The entire Royal Navy is out looking for me. Do you think there is even the slightest chance they won’t see it?” Neil walks away from the flames and out towards the water, then sits down. “Give it an hour, maybe two, and there will be a ship on that horizon.” 

Kevin makes a strangled sound, turning away from Neil before he does something incredibly stupid like shoot him. Or himself. 

The island is so small that he is on the other side in a matter of moments. 

When he looks up, there is, in fact, a ship on the horizon. 

When they finally board the ship, which is, in fact, a part of the navy, Neil is pulled into an uncomfortable looking embrace by the man who exposed Kevin to be a pirate and clapped on the shoulder by an intimidating man in a very official looking uniform. Kevin attempts to disappear into the floorboards. 

“I’m fine,” Neil says, pulling away from the man and nodding at the commodore.

“Neil, we feared the worst,” the man says, raking Neil with his eyes like he can see any hidden injuries that Neil isn’t telling him about. “Do not lie to me.”

“I’m fine,” Neil insists, “but they still have Andrew.”

Both older men frown, but Kevin guesses it’s for different reasons. 

“He chose his fate,” the man says, disapproval tightening his voice. 

“Stuart, he saved my life.”

“By conspiring with a  _ pirate _ ,” Stuart says, lobbing the last word in Kevin’s direction. Kevin tries his best to look innocent and unassuming. 

“Commodore Wymack,” Neil says, switching tactics. Half a second later Kevin processes that name and almost falls over. “Please, we have to go after the  _ Pearl _ . Nicky is with Andrew.” 

_ Wymack?  _

“I agree,” the commodore says, and Stuart sputters. “They are citizens of Columbia,” he says louder, cutting Stuart off. “Regardless of what they have done.” 

Kevin considers throwing himself off the side of the ship and swimming back to the island. Maybe he could take some rum from the hold with him. 

“Stuart,” Neil says, but Kevin barely hears him, too busy staring at the man whom he has only ever heard of. The man who has Kevin’s eyes and Kevin’s hands, but doesn't even know his name. "Stuart. Please. I'll do anything." Neil pauses, looks a little like he hates himself. "I'll go back to London." 

Stuart pauses. 

"Fine," he says, after a long moment. “But then what should be done about  _ him _ ?" 

It takes Kevin a moment to realize they mean him, and he straightens, casting every echo of Kaleigh Day’s voice to the back of his mind. 

“Well if you can get past the pirate part,” Kevin says, throwing on a smile like armor and willing it to hold. “I could be of some assistance.” 

  
+++

  
  


_ January 1, 1735 _

_ Dear Andrew, _

_ I am not wasting candles on you.  _

_ Borrowing them is easy, and even if you continue to see it as a waste, I won’t stop. Unless you want me to. I will stop if you want me to.  _

_ Anyway, you have no idea how happy your letter made me. Penelope (the girl who is convinced I have a sweetheart waiting for me. She won't leave me alone) saw me smiling the day I got it and asked me if I was sick.  _

_ She told me I have dimples. _

_ I didn’t even know I had dimples.  _

_ Do I really have dimples?  _

_ Also, yes, fencing is very practical and useful. I am the top of my class. Some of the boys have duels on the weekends, but they don’t even use real swords, which is pathetic.  _

_ Why would one pretend that the real world is any less cruel than it is? It just makes reality all the more harsh.  _

_ Which brings me to my next question: is it hope you hate, or the price of holding onto it? _

_ And don’t tell me that you don’t care enough to hate it. We both know that’s not true.  _

_ You see Andrew, hope is a dangerous, disquieting thing. Truly, it is. But I think, perhaps, I like it. _

_ Abram _

_ P.S. It’s the New Year. Do people make wishes on the New Year? If they do, mine would be to see you again.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A victory, and another letter. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: character death, but also not?

Andrew marches himself up to the raised platform, to the exact place Neil stood the day- was it really only a day?- before. He refuses to let the pirates touch him any more than necessary, his nerves rubbed raw. 

Rage simmers under his skin, in his veins. 

Someone once told him that there is nothing in this horrible world quite as strong as rage, accept for what makes us hold it, contain it. 

Andrew feels full to the brim, one step away from overflowing, and he almost doesn't see the point of restraint. 

Almost. The sight of Nicky held at gunpoint is enough to keep him quiet; seething, but quiet. 

That and perhaps, hope. 

Andrew doesn't dwell on that though. 

Seth approaches him with a smirk that Andrew wants to carve off his face with a dull knife. Seth apparently sees the murder in his eyes because his smirk grows wider, his eyes are slightly wild. 

“Don’t worry,” he all but purrs, “it’s just a little cut on your hand, so there's really no cause for concern.” At those words, the members of his boo and hollar, and Seth laughs. They start chanting for blood, and Seth raises his eyebrows. “Then again,” he says, “maybe you do have some cause for concern.” 

Andrew does not dignify that with a response. 

He doesn't look at Seth, and he doesn’t look at Nicky, or any of the rest of the crew, he simply stares ahead, breathing. 

Finally, Seth raises a knife to his throat, and he fights not to flinch. The moment stretches, elastic, the cold metal pressed to Andrew’s throat and Neil eyes in his mind, and then it snaps in on itself as someone yells, “Wait!”

Every single head turns to the sound, and Andrew can’t quite find it within himself to be surprised at the sight of Kevin, a cocky smile on his face and his arms spread wide as if he’s expecting everyone to bow down to him. 

Andrew immediately scans the room, looking for red hair, but coming up empty. 

“You’re supposed to be dead,” says Seth. 

“So I am,” Kevin replies. “Didn’t stick.”

Seth sputters, and Kevin holds up a hand to stop him.

“You see, when you stranded me on that godforsaken island, for the second time, you forgot one very important detail.”

Seth looks seconds away from having a stroke. “And what might that be?” 

Kevin smiles again. “I’m Captain Kevin Day.”

++

"Where's Neil?" 

Andrew is standing in between Kevin and Nicky, held at gunpoint by two pirates as Seth stands a little ways off.

"Calm down, he's fine," Kevin says, without even looking at him. His eyes are fixed on the entrance to the cavern, where the rest of the pirate crew disappeared to carry out his plan to double cross the navy men. 

It’s not good enough. "Where. Is. Neil," Andrew bites out. Panic is not a familiar emotion to him, but right now it’s eating him alive. Nicky gives him a concerned look, which he ignores.

"Don't worry,” Kevin says, finally sparing him a glance. “He's safe with his uncle, just like I promised. He's set to go back to London, just like he promised. And you are about to die for him, just like you promised. So we're all men of our word really. Except for… well no, I guess we are all men." 

Andrew is going to murder him. 

Then it hits him. 

_ London? _

"Be quiet, all of you," Seth snaps. 

Neil is going back to London? That sentence doesn't make sense in Andrew’s head.

There is a distant sound of a bell; a distress signal. Seth smiles. 

“Um, Kevin?” Nicky asks. “You’re not going to just let them kill everyone, right?” 

Kevin scoffs at him. “Of course not,” he says, and then suddenly, his hands are out of their bonds and he’s reaching out to stop one of the pirates from blowing Nicky’s skull off. 

Nicky yelps, and then Kevin shoves a small knife in Andrew’s hands, and he does not hesitate to rip the rope off his wrists and do the same for Nicky. 

Finally, finally, Andrew takes the rage in his lungs, his vein, his bones, and he lets it consume him, he lets it blind him, and he let’s it overflow. 

And rage, he does. 

It almost doesn’t matter that the pirates cannot die. It’s problematic, yes, but he can’t find it within himself to care just then.

He just keeps destroying and destroying and they keep coming back. Kevin is not far off, facing off against Seth. Andrew can’t see Nicky, but doesn’t have time to look. 

He just manages to dodge another near deadly strike when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kevin take out his pistol and shoot it directly at Seth’s heart. 

Seth just looks at him. 

“Wasted shot,” he says, but Kevin raises his eyebrows in challenge. 

There is the sound of coins raining on more coins, and Andrew turns to find Neil, impossibly, standing over the giant chest of gold, a hand outstretched like he just dropped something.

There is a beat of absolute silence. 

Seth frowns, looking down at the red stain blooming on his chest. 

“I feel,” he starts, then pauses, looking up at Kevin. His eyes are sad. “Cold.”

They all watch as Seth sways, and tips, and finally, falls. 

+++

_ March 13, 1735 _

_ Dear Andrew,  _

_ Some boys were throwing stones at a sparrow today. They were tormenting it, trying to knock it out of a tree. _

_ Everyone says I overreacted, but Andrew, how could I not?  _

_ One of them finally hit the sparrow and I must have started running because suddenly they were right there, and they were  laughing and everything went sort of white?  _

_ The next thing I knew is three of them were on the ground, one had a bloody nose, and I was being pulled away.  _

_ If the headmaster was upset with me when I punched Richard, he was livid then.  _

_ I have to take all of my classes with him now, privately. He says I cannot be trusted with the other students. I think perhaps the only reason I am not yet kicked out is because Stuart is paying the headmaster a large sum of money to keep me here.  _

_ Also, it looks like I am not returning to Columbia for the summer.  _

_ Uncle Stuart was quite possibly more upset about my little  overreaction  than the headmaster was, and he said a summer in London, in high society, would be good for me. Whatever that means.  _

_ Long story short, I'm not coming back for another year.  _

_ It's stupid. It really is.  _

_ You said hope will only hurt when I inevitably lose it, and yet I still chose to nurture it. It still chose to cup it in my hands and pray I will not drop it, but I did. I dropped it and it shattered. Over a sparrow.  _

_ God, Andrew, I'm sorry.  _

_ I fear I cannot take much more of this.  _

_ I miss Columbia.  _

_ I never thought I would say this, but I miss the ocean. The cove at least.  _

_ And I miss you. _

_ I can picture the exact expression you are going to make when you read that and I will have you know that I don't care what you think about it. It's a truth, Andrew.  _

_ Sunrise, Abram, death. Like you said.  _

_ I miss you.  _

_ That is one of my truths.  _

_ Rip this letter to shreds if you don't like it, but I want to know that I put it in writing. That you saw it.  _

_ Send my regards to your part of the sky.  _

_ Abram _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have not seen the movies, this probably wont make a lot of sense bc it’s super vague? So I apologize for that. 
> 
> Besides that, only one more chapter to go, and this is your daily reminder that I am always curious about what you thought. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past Andrew has a crisis, Kevin lives to see another day, and Past Neil it Not Subtle. 
> 
> (Also, a sneak peak teaser thing. You’re welcome. Either that or I’m sorry. You decide.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright lovelies, this is it! 
> 
> As I said at the very beginning, this is not finished. I have great and glorious visions of continuing with the nest two movies at least, bc there’s just So Much that could be done. So much left unanswered. (cough cough, Aaron Minyard). The possibilities are endless. I’m excited. HOWEVER, I do have three other fics that I am in the middle of writing, bc I have absolutely no self control. My beta would have a stroke if I started anything else. So. It will be a hot minute before this is continued, I’m terribly sorry.
> 
> On a happier note, I wanted to thank everyone who left comments and kudos and just read this in general, I love you all and I hope this was just as fun to read as it was to write. <3

_ May 2, 1735  _

_ Abram,  _

_ Once upon a time, there was a sparrow that fell in love with the reflection of the moon.  _

_ Now, to properly understand the situation, one must take into consideration, that the sparrow could not fly, for he was afraid of heights.  _

_ All the other birds shunned him for it. His fear of falling. They told him that he was a bird, and he was born for such things. They told him that he was joyless, and that if he was normal, whole, he would join them in the sky. Their sky.  _

_ He never listened to them, why should he?  _

_ Sometimes one can't be expected to live up to everything one is born to be. Sometimes the best you can do is carve a new path out of the world you were given to work with.  _

_ So the sparrow stayed on the ground, and he didn't watch the other birds wheel around in the sky, and he wasn't happy, exactly, but he was alive. Alive but not really living, but he didn't mind it that way.  _

_ That is, until the moon.  _

_ The sparrow was not in the habit of looking up. Ever. It made him feel as if he was falling. He always preferred looking forward, but one night, impossibly, stupidly, he looked up and caught sight of the moon, and then he couldn't look away.  _

_ The moon was big and bright and lovely and liked to play hide and seek with the clouds. Its light danced across the forest floor when it was close, and all the stars dimmed in comparison.  _

_ It was also a million miles away, high in the sky. In the one place the sparrow should have been able to reach, but couldn't.  _

_ He hated it. He hated it so much.  _

__See, the sparrow knew that to try to_ hold onto something, to reach for something at all, was to let it hurt you. He was not practiced in the art of vulnerability, and it ate away at him.  _

_ Then one night, as the sparrow was looking down, perpetually down, he came across a lake, and in the lake, impossibly, drifted to the moon.  _

_ This moon was slightly different, wavering, watery, but the same in all the ways that mattered. It was just as bright, just as lovely, just as captivating, just as prone to hide behind the clouds, and once again the sparrow found he could not look away.  _

_ Night after night, the sparrow found himself at the edge of that lake, and night after night, the moon descended from the sky to dance in the water. They never crept closer, but it was enough.  _

_ Now, the sparrow didn’t know much about love. He thought that if love were passed down, from generation to generation, he definitely wouldn't have any. He thought that perhaps if love were taught, no one had bothered to teach him how. And if love were something to be found, he didn’t know how to start looking.  _

_ But if love was something that was given, well.  _

_ He just hoped someone would be willing to give him some, someday. Not that he would ever say so out loud.  _

_ So he didn’t know if what he felt when he looked at the moon was love, but he wanted it to be.  _

_ He wanted it to be.  _

_But of course,_ of course _, the world does not spin to the whims of a sparrow, so of course, of course, the moon disappeared. _

_ Of course it did.  _

_ See, but that's the thing about hope, or so called love. It makes you do stupid things.  _

_ Stupid things like write letters and send them across the ocean. Stupid things like watching the horizon every night even though there is no ship coming. Stupid things like wishing and wanting and  _ waiting _.  _

_ Love has claws, hope holds chains.  _

_ So the sparrow stood by the edge of that empty lake, and he waited for the moon to return to him.  _

_Andrew J_

_Andrew doesn't even finish signing his name. He keeps the pen on the paper and lets it bleed into the parchment as he stares at the last line he wrote._

_ He waits for two seconds, three, four, five, and then it’s too much, too raw, too real. He clenches his jaw and takes the pen away, only just realizing the hole he punctured through the paper.  _

_ He stands up so quickly that his chair tips back and hits the floor with a dull thud, but he doesn't stop, crossing the room and grabbing the nearest lantern, ripping open the little glass door and holding the corner of the letter to the flame.  _

_ It catches in an instant, but then, without warning, Andrew imagines Neil, bent over a rickety desk in the dead of night, ink all over his fingers and his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. And there in front of him, Andrew imagines a candle, melted and tiny, but still sputtering its feeble light.  _

_ With a sharp intake of breath, Andrew snatches the letter out of the fire and pinches the lingering flame out with his bare fingers, wincing at the sting.  _

_ He is so fucked.  _

_ Without checking the extent of the damage, Andrew drops the letter in the bottom draw of his desk and slams it closed.  _

_ He wrings his hand out as if he can fling the burn off, and when that doesn't work, he sticks his fingers in his mouth to relieve the ache, snatching his coat from on his bed and stomping out of the tiny flat he shares with his cousin.  _

_He pretends the winds can snatch away his spiraling thoughts and lets the night swallow him whole_. 

+++

Neil stands under an overhang at the edge of the courtyard, deeply despising the sun and feeling like the past few days of his life were only a dream. 

He doesn't look at Stuart beside him, who gave up trying to talk to him last night when all he got in return was Neil’s stoney silences. 

He hates the outfit Stuart forced him into, he hates that it is apparently all the rage in London. 

He hates the eagerness of the crowd gathered, and the cheerful dance of the wind, and the sound of the waves protesting against the rocks far below them. He even hates Stuart, just a little.

Most of all, however, he hates himself. 

He doesn’t think he’ll survive the trip back to London. 

The crowd perks up as two guards emerge from within the court building, escorting a very nonchalant looking Kevin Day between them. He climbs up the steps of the platform without protest and lets the guards wrap the noose around his neck. 

Neil feels sick. 

This was not supposed to happen. 

Someone starts reading off the list of charges against Kevin, who just smiles throughout it all. Neil thinks he looks just a little proud of himself. 

Finally, they get to the end and the man says, “Kevin Day-”

“It’s captain,” Kevin interrupts. “Captain Kevin Day.” 

The guard ignores him. “You are found guilty, and are hereby sentenced to death.”

From somewhere nearby, a parrot screeches, and then several things happen at once.

A sword is hurled through the air, end over end, embedding itself in the wood just below Kevin, so that when the lever is pulled, he doesn't hang, but balanced on the thin blade of the sword instead.

A gun goes off, and the crowd screams, dropping to the ground in fear. 

And then, someone leaps onto the noose platform and cuts the rope, freeing Kevin and joining him on the ground. They stand back to back, swords raised, and then, they charge together. 

They make it to the overlook before they are surrounded. 

Neil follows them but stops in his tracks when he sees that the other man is Andrew. 

Andrew, who hasn't spoken to him since that night in the cavern. 

Andrew, who he hasn't seen at all since that night. 

Andrew, who had looked him right in the eyes after silence came to claim them after Seth died, and said simply,  _ are you okay. _

When Neil had said yes, he just nodded, something unreadable in his eyes. 

Then, Wymack’s men had come in and they were seperated, and Neil felt as if something inside him was ripping, tearing in half.

“Shit,” Neil whispers as Kevin and Andrew stand back to back, bayonets aimed in a circle around them.

He doesn't think before moving, shoving his way between the guards and placing himself directly in front of Andrew. 

“What are you doing?” Andrew hisses, but Neil ignores him. 

“Neil,” Stuarts says, having just caught up to them. “What on earth- put your weapons down.” The last part of the sentence is directed at the guards, who don’t respond. “I said, lower your weapons!”

“Put them down,” Wymack says, joining them, and finally the guns are lowered. 

“Neil,” Stuart says again. “What are you doing?”

“Absolutely nothing Stuart,” Neil replies, looking right at him. “I’m simply standing here.” 

“Neil,” Stuart says, like he’s talking to a child. “Get out of the way.” 

Neil lifts his head, just slightly. He feels kind of like trembling himself to pieces, but he also doesn’t have time for that, so he stands tall. “No.” 

“He’s a  _ pirate _ .”

“Is he?” Neil frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

“This is no way to act. In high society-”

“I’m not going Stuart,” Neil interrupts. 

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going back to London,” Neil says, louder, not looking at Andrew behind him, but desperately wanting to. 

“You cannot-”

“And you cannot make me. You can try, but I will run away, and I will keep running away, no matter how many times you drag me back.” Neil wants to lean backwards, to feel Andrew pressed up against him, holding him up, but he doesn’t. Stuart looks like he just ate something foul. “So either you can give the order and shoot me to get to them, or you can let us all go and keep me in your life for at least a little longer.” 

At last, Neil feels Andrew’s hand brush against the small of his back, and he breathes deeply for what feels like the first time in the past three days. Stuart looks murderous, but Wymack looks assessing. 

Finally, Staurt visibly deflates. “Fine,” he says, looking at Wymack, who just smiles. 

“Stand down,” Wymack orders, and the guards back up. Neil takes another deep breath. 

“Well,” Kevin says after a moment, from behind Neil, turning everyone’s attention to him. “That was touching.” Neil glares at him, watching him step around Andrew and walk up to Stuart and Wymack. “I feel like we’ve all arrived at a very good place, don’t you?” Stuart scoffs. “Spiritually,” Kevin continues. “Acuminically.” He pauses. “Grammatically.” 

Wymack raises an eyebrow at him, which has him quickly turning away. 

“Neil,” he says, and then frowns when he finds Neil glaring at him. “I’m sorry.” He leaves a lot unspoken, but Neil can hear it anyway, and he hates that Kevin actually sounds sincere.

Kevin accepts his silence and turns away to mount the steps leading up the look out’s edge. At the very last second, he turns.

“Andrew,” he says, and hesitates. Andrew’s glare is twice as heavy as Neil’s. “Nice hat,” he says finally, then climbs up the remaining steps and continues to back up. 

“Gentlemen,” he starts, spreading his arms wide. “This is the day you will remember as-” he cuts off as the back of his foot connects with the low wall and he topples backwards over the edge, arms flailing and a look of surprise plastered on his face. Everyone rushes forward to watch him fall but Andrew and Neil. They know Kevin will be fine. 

Neil takes another deep breath, Andrew’s fingers still pressed against his back. He turns to say something but then Andrew shakes his head and grabs Neil’s hand. 

“Not here,” he says, and pulls Neil away from the crowd watching Kevin swim to freedom, leading him to a secluded hallway where he presses Neil up against the wall. 

“You’re not going back to London,” Andrew says. 

Neil shakes his head. “I’m not,” he agrees. 

“You’re staying.” 

Neil nods, tucking his hands behind him, not wanting to take more than he’s given, but then Andrew is running his hands down Neil’s arms, pulling them out and guiding them to his shoulders. 

“Stay,” Andrew says again, a command, a plea, his voice rough.

Neil smiles softly. “I am, Drew. I’m staying,” he whispers, and then Andrew is kissing him like it’s the last time he will ever be able to, holding him like it’s the first time he’s allowed to. 

Neil sighs, and finally, finally, his world rights itself, aligning with the horizon after far too long. 

+++

_ August 6, 1736 _

_ Dear Andrew, _

_ It’s been two years. _

_ Two years Andrew.  _

_ I left two years ago, today.  _

_ My ship leaves London in a few weeks. I should get to Columbia just after this letter reaches you.  _

_ I’m coming home. Finally, I’m coming home.  _

_ Seeing as you have not replied to my last several letters, I hope you are still there. If you have gone and died on me, I shall be very put out.  _

_ I cannot wait to see you.  _

_ I still don’t know if I’m allowed to say that, but I also don’t really care. I cannot wait.  _

_ Keep a weather eye on the horizon, I’m crossing it for you.  _

_ Abram _

  
  
  
+

+++

+

**Part 2 Teaser**

**Close Your Eyes and Pretend it’s All a Bad Dream**

**(That’s how I get by)**

Neil stands in the rain, his arm wrapped around himself and his skin completely soaked through. If he could find it within himself to shiver, he would, but a numbing blankness has settled over his bones, and he’s not sure if he wants to dislodge it. 

This was not supposed to happen. 

The sound of footsteps has him turning around, and at the sight of red uniforms he escapes the rain into an overhang around the courtyard, his eyes landing first on Stuart and then on Andrew. 

Andrew, who is in chains. 

_This was not supposed to happen._

“Andrew,” he says as soon as he is near enough to hear.

Andrew says nothing. 

“What is going on?” he demands, turning to his uncle, but Stuart looks just as distressed as he is. 

“I have no idea,” he says, then turning to the guards, like he has done it at least a dozen times already. “I told you, unhand him at once. As the governor of Columbia, I demand that you unhand him.” 

Andrew has not taken his eyes off Neil, his face dangerously blank. 

There are two guards, holding him in place by the arms, and another two behind him. One of them has a black eye, and Neil can guess where it came from. Still, he wants to sever the guards’ hands from their bodies to make them stop touching Andrew. 

“Unfortunately,” a new voice drawls, from just out of sight. “That simply isn’t possible.” 

Stuart sputters, something tickles at the back of Neil’s mind, and then the guards are parting ranks, and the speaker steps between them, a malicious smile carved upon his face. 

Neil’s stomach bottoms out, dragging his heart with it. 

“Who are you?” Stuart demands, and the newcomers smile widens. 

Neil can’t remember how to breathe. 

“My name,” the stranger says grandly, his eyes fixing hungrily on Neil’s. “Is Commodore Riko Moriyama, and I have a warrant of arrest for one Andrew Minyard.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you again, you people are amazing. 
> 
> Once again, I would love to know what you thought, I’m always curious. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck, here we go
> 
> Thoughts? Questions? General expressions of intrigue bordering on slight concern? Hit me, I’m always curious. :)


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